


Green Ginger Wine

by SparklinBurgndy



Series: Cabochons to Roses [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 'orriblemurder, Angst and Comfort, Culture Shock, Dwobbits, Exiled!Thorin, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fluff, Gossip, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Protective Dwalin, Raunchy Hobbits, Rumjacks lyrics, Swearing, fem!Bilbo, former abusive relationship, ribaldry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklinBurgndy/pseuds/SparklinBurgndy
Summary: Thorin's Company come to visit their King in exile in the Shire.  Dwalin meets an unlikely match.





	1. An Unexpected Proposition

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Driven Out and Taken In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/723489) by [GreenT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenT/pseuds/GreenT). 



> This is set in GreenT's 'Driven Out and Taken In' universe. She hasn't been here since 2014 and I've tried to contact her repeatedly but received no reply. So I'm tagging her as a co-creator. This story will diverge slightly from hers, but not so much you'd notice.

“Would you care to dance, Master Dwarf?”

Dwalin gritted his teeth. This was his brother’s doing. Or perhaps Bofur or Nori; they’d expect such a thing to be hilarious. The hobbit woman doing the asking was tiny, even by hobbit standards. Dwalin likely could pick her up in one hand. Oh yes, wouldn’t that be amusing? Dwalin, son of Fundin, who could almost pass for human in the height department, dancing with a creature that likely wasn’t even three feet tall. That’s the best he could hope for from Bofur or Nori. Balin would likely be meddling, hoping his younger brother would follow Thorin’s lead and take a hobbit for a bride.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Dwalin growled. “Who put you up to this?”

The woman looked bewildered.

“I – no one did, I simply thought—“

“If it’s Bofur, tell him I’m not making a fool of myself dancing with a lady half my size. If it’s my brother, Balin, tell him I’m not interested in halflings!”

There was silence for a long moment. Dwalin realized that it was neither of those things and he had just heaped verbal abuse on a lady who simply wanted to dance with him. He could tell by the expression on her face. It wasn’t quite shock or fear though both would have been understandable. There was only a slow, creeping sadness tinged with resignation; as though his outburst and rejection barely surprised her.

“I’ve offended you somehow,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze. “My apologies.”

She turned and headed back into the crowd at the festival, disappearing among the taller hobbits in no time. Dwalin nearly growled, but this time his anger was directed at himself. That was uncalled for. It must be the ale making his temper short. The poor wee lassie clearly felt the hurt of his outburst. At least she hadn’t started crying. Blast. Well, what’s done is done. If he saw her again, he’d apologize.

The hobbit Harvest Festival rollicked around the party tree; all trying to out-eat, out-drink, and out-dance each other. Even Thorin was dragged into a reel or two by his lovely bride. Dwalin stood like a mountain . . . like the Lonely Mountain surrounded by low hills. Dwalin kept an eye on the dance floor. He didn’t see that tiny hobbit woman anywhere, but then again, if she stood right in front of him he’d be looking over the top of her head. Why on earth had she thought he’d make a good dance partner? Confound it all, he needed a drink.

There were kegs and barrels and cases of wine stacked like a memorial for sobriety to one side of the dance floor. Dwalin picked up a stein and bent to fill it from an ale keg. When he straightened, he spotted a familiar and very tiny figure straining to reach a rack of wine goblets. The goblets had been hung by their bases; the rack itself strung up in some tree branches. The party planners could have been more considerate. Years of working and living among Men had taught Dwalin exactly how infuriating it could be to have something just out of reach. Without much thought, he pulled a goblet from the rack and handed it to his would-be dance partner.

“Thank you! Oh—“

The thanks was out of her mouth before she realized who was helping her. Then she was back to that resigned sadness.

“I . . . must apologize for earlier,” Dwalin growled reluctantly. “I thought my mates were pulling a prank.”

“Because dancing with me must have been a joke?”

The barb stung. The hobbit lass didn’t wait for a reply, but grabbed a bottle of wine from a nearby table and tried with marginal success to fill her goblet. It was at that point Dwalin realized she was falling down drunk.

“I do apologize—“

“So answer me this,” the lass said, gesturing with the glass and slopping a good portion of it on the ground. “I’ve heard dwarves don’t have anything in the way of women – do you simply not know what to do when you meet them?”

Dwalin didn’t bother to answer. Normally he would be ready to fire back with an equally rude quip, but he had wronged her first. Also, she was downing what remained of her wine like a longshoreman and probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“Huuuuuuh . . . that’s not fair,” she admitted once her wine was gone. “That’s not fair to you. Apologies.” 

She inspected her goblet again and seemed bewildered by the fact that it was empty.

“I’m sure there are plenty of hobbit lads who would like to dance with you,” Dwalin offered.

“That’s kind, but you’re wrong,” she informed him.

“Blast it, Blackberry! Who gave you another cup?!” 

A male hobbit Dwalin didn’t recognize (which was most of them) ripped the wine goblet from the tiny lass’s hand. The hobbit woman—Blackberry evidently—actually fell over from the rough yank - though that probably had a great deal to do with her inebriation. 

“Damn it, Munto; you aren’t my father!” Blackberry groaned from the grass. 

Before either could blink, Dwalin snatched up the tiny lady and set her back on her oversized feet. The dwarf turned on Munto with a glare. 

“I realize you hobbits are lousy with women, but that doesn’t mean you treat one roughly in front of me,” he snarled.

“I – I – I –she’s had too much already . . .” Munto squeaked.

“Then someone should see her safely home,” Dwalin growled.

“Good idea!” Munto blurted, shoving Blackberry into the dwarf’s arms. “Thanks for volunteering, Master Dwarf! I know she’ll be safe with such a noble warrior!”

It was Dwalin’s turn to be stunned. He looked down at the very, very drunk hobbit lass slumped against his chest.

“I – I didn’t mean me,” he protested.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

In hindsight, the guardsman reflected, this would probably be funny. He refused to dance with a hobbit lass and ended up walking her home. Well, ‘walking’ was a generous word; Blackberry reeled gently from side to side on the path and twice tried to lay down until Dwalin took her arm.

“You can leave me here, Master Dwarf,” she slurred. “The Wheelbarrow Brigade will be by in the morning.”

“What is the Wheelbarrow Brigade?” Dwalin asked, tugging her back to her feet.

“A group of lads that comes around to pick up the drunks after a big party. With wheelbarrows.” Blackberry hiccupped gently. “Hence the name.”

“I am not leaving such a tiny lass unconscious on the grass all night,” Dwalin said stiffly. “Anything could happen.”

“You are very kind, Master Dwarf,” Blackberry said. “But nothing would happen to me. Well, I suppose I might get run over by a cart.”

“Dwalin.”

“Muh – what?” 

“My name. Dwalin, son of Fundin. At your service,” he gave a little half-bow.

“Blackberry Brandywine; at yours.” Blackberry attempted a curtsey and promptly fell over.

Dwalin managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

“You trust your countrymen entirely too much, Mistress Brandywine,” he announced. Knowing this would take forever otherwise, Dwalin scooped an arm under her thighs and lifted, leaving Blackberry sitting on his arm. “Ugly things can happen to pretty lasses.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Damn. Dwalin actually had no idea what a pretty hobbit looked like and she certainly wasn’t pretty by dwarf standards! Attractive dwarf women were stout and plump, with loads of hair braided to look even thicker and thin beards. Blackberry was tiny and frail. She did have loads of hair; dirty blonde curls cascaded down her back. She certainly didn’t have any facial hair. But he could hardly tell her she was unattractive; he’d already been cruel to her once tonight.

“I have ugly feet,” Blackberry announced. “That’s why I wear such long skirts. Everybody just assumes I can’t sew.”

“ . . . what makes feet ugly?” Dwalin inquired carefully. What made feet pretty for that matter? That must have been a hobbit thing.

Blackberry extended one leg. Dwalin studied in the light of the moon. That . . . was a foot all right. Yes. Certainly was a foot.

“Very nice,” he offered for lack of something better to say.

“They’re so small,” Blackberry offered. “And there’s barely any hair.”

A dwarf woman – or any other race for that matter – would still consider her feet enormous. 

“And you think you’re safe from ugliness because you have small feet?”

“Oh, no. I’m a pariah. I’m only safe from intimate contact or friendship and such like.”

“A pariah? What did you do?”

“My husband ran off with the neighbor. Left here,” she said, pointing to the right. 

Dwalin paused for a moment, then turned right. They were a fair distance from Hobbiton now, back in the forest. He had been sure they could find their way by the light of the full moon, but now he was wishing he had brought a lantern.

“Your husband abandoned you? How does that make you a social pariah?”

“Well, I must have done something to drive him away!” Blackberry offered. “The lazy bastard.” At Dwalin’s confused look, she continued. “Hobbits very, very rarely split up. It’s almost unheard of. Those that find themselves single again usually do so because their spouse died. So for one to just abandon his wife and run away with the neighbor . . . I must have done something wicked cruel. We never had a child, either, so that’s another black mark against me.”

“That’s daft.”

“That’s Hobbiton,” Blackberry retorted. “Where they judge you by the actions of others and look at your feet first.” 

Dwalin snorted. For all her physical attributes (or lack thereof), Blackberry seemed down to earth and realistic. Bilba . . . Thorin loved his wife and she was surprisingly courageous when need be. Bilba Baggins had raised Fili and Kili as her own and certainly gave of herself to any who needed her. But sometimes she was just way too . . . . hobbit-y for Dwalin’s taste. Bilba could give the nobles of Erebor a run for their money when it came to propriety. Blackberry seemed a bit more . . . dwarvish. Dwalin hitched her up further on his arm, prompting another hiccup.

“If you’re going to be sick, warn me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Mmmf; deal,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

They walked the path in silence for a while, then Blackberry pointed to a faint light.

“That’s my smial.”

The Brandywine smial was considerably smaller than Bag End. It was jammed up under a natural bluff, the doorway surrounded with bricks. A lantern hung by the round purple door. Dwalin set Blackberry on her feet and she opened the door with relative ease. The room beyond was cozy, barely illuminated by the dying embers of an hours old fire.

“Sleep well, then,” Dwalin stated, starting back up the path.

“Master Dwalin!”

Blackberry was posed against the door frame; her body arched provocatively, head tilted back. 

“Would you like to come inside for some . . . . tea?”

The tiny woman was screaming an invitation in everything but words. And not for tea. This was awkward. Still, as she leaned against the doorway, bathed in the warm glow of the lantern, Dwalin reflected that while she may not have been a dwarven beauty, she wasn’t unpleasant to look upon. And it had been a very long time since stopping this line of thought right now.

“Mistress Brandywine, I think you’re the worse for drink,” he stated.

“One might argue that I’m actually the better for drink,” she tried.

Dwalin couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“I’m fairly certain you’re the worse for drink. And I should say good night here.”

“Very well,” Blackberry sighed. That look of resigned sadness was back. “Thank you for the safe journey home.”

Dwalin nodded and started back up the path. Blackberry made it as far as the sitting room before passing out on the sofa.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning Blackberry Brandywine woke to a magnificent hangover. She peeled herself off of the couch, stumbled into her bedchamber, traded her red party dress for a simpler one in green and braided her long curls. Enough wine bottles had been emptied last night that the Party Commission would need them picked up. Her family name wasn’t Brandywine for the sake of compliment. She didn’t have a vineyard, but specialized in wines and liqueurs made from other fruits.

Blackberry made herself first breakfast, prepared her small cart for a trip into town, had a nibble of second breakfast and started off for Hobbiton. It was an uneventful trip except for having to manhandle her cart over a few partiers the Wheelbarrow Brigade hadn’t discovered yet. She had help getting home last night, didn’t she? Yes, that big, strapping dwarf that helped Thorin Oakensheild in the forge. And he’d been too polite to lay down with her while she was that drunk. Hmmm, well, he respected her at least. That was a bright side. Dwalin! Yes, that was his name. Blackberry wondered if it would smack of desperation to drop by the forge to thank him for his discretion.

“Blackberry!” Zinnia Hornblower was waving from the bottle washing station. 

Blackberry wrestled her cart across the grass and began loading up the bottles with her mark on them.

“You know,” Zinnia purred, helping the smaller woman. “I heard a rumor about you.”

“Oh yes?” Blackberry hadn’t had much luck with rumors.

“About you and that big dwarf from the forge,” Zinnia amplified.

“ . . . I guarantee you the truth is not nearly as interesting as the rumor,” Brandywine sighed.

“You don’t know what it is yet!”

“I don’t have to.”

Zinnia pursed her lips in irritation. Blackberry was not getting into the spirit of things.

“Well. They say he took you home from the festival last night.”

“That’s true.”

Zinnia’s face lit up at the thought of such a juicy secret.

“And that’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Took me home, made sure I got inside and left. Dwalin is . . . quite protective of the fairer sex.”

“Oooh, his name is Dwalin?”

“Yes, it is and that’s hardly a secret!”

“Zinnia, are you done?” Jeeso Proudfoot asked. “We’ve got more bottles to sort.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Off home then, Blackberry?”

“No, I’ve got some more empties to pick up from the inn. I’ll see you later.”

Zinnia and Jeeso waved to the small hobbit, who dragged her cart back onto the path and continued towards the inn.

“Can you believe Blackberry has taken a dwarf for a lover?!” Zinnia squealed in delight.

“She just said nothing happened!” Jeeso protested.

“Well she would say that, wouldn’t she?!”

“I’m inclined to believe her,” Jeeso said, turning back to the bottles.

“Why would you—“

“Because have you seen the size of that dwarf? Especially compared to Blackberry? And she’s walking quite normally.”

Zinnia tried to stifle the laugh that burst out, but to no avail. Jeeso did have a point. But let’s face it, the gossip was more fun.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Saw you sneaking away with a wee thing last night,” Bofur announced at second breakfast. 

The table full of dwarves and one lone hobbit woman turned in unison to stare at Dwalin. The guardsman couldn’t quite help the blush that crept across his cheeks.

“She was the worse for drink. I saw her home. That’s all.”

A low murmur of not quite disbelief ran through the dining room.

“What was the young lady’s name?” Dori asked.

“Blackberry Brandywine.”

Thorin was the only one who noticed Bilba choking on a bite of eggs and take a quick swig of milk to wash it down.

“Blackberry Brandywine? Was that her name or what she was drinking?” Nori chuckled.

“Both, if I’m honest,” Dwalin admitted.

“Is there a lass named Blackberry Brandywine?” Balin asked, turning his attention to Bilba.

"Ah . . . yes. There is a hobbit named Blackberry Brandywine," Bilba said. She opened her mouth as if to add something, thought on it, then turned back to her food.

"Don't just leave it at that!" Thorin chuckled. "What else were you going to say?"

"I - well, I was just going to warn Dwalin that Blackberry was known for being .. . a little rough around the edges, brash, confrontational, and capable of writing songs that would make Bofur blush," the hobbit woman said. "Then I realized who I was speaking to. She and Dwalin might get on quite well!" 

This prompted a round of laughter.

"She said she's not popular with the lads because her husband abandoned her," Dwalin said.

"That's . . . . not the entire truth. Her husband did run away with the Ruggo Whistlestop's wife but for a while the village thought Blackberry had murdered him."

Now Dori choked on his eggs. Balin slapped him on the back heartily. Dwalin laughed.

"Have you seen Mistress Brandywine?!" he chuckled. "She's so wee! Everyone honestly thought she killed her husband?"

Bilba took a deep breath and wiped her mouth. She cast a look at Fili, Kili, and Ori. The wee ones were likely at the stage where they were hearing such rumors themselves, but Bilba wasn't going to contribute to it.

"Fili, Kili, if you're finished, why don't you show Ori the new dam that was built last summer? It has a special spot for catching fish."

Fili and Kili exchanged a long look that stated Bilba wasn't fooling them, but the allure of running free with their aunt's blessing was powerful. In a few minutes, the dwarflings were off on their own adventure. 

"It's a long story. Justilo Proudfoot was her husband and for all intents and purposes, they made each other's lives a merry hell. Then Justilo ran off with Peony Whistlestop - they went down to Buckland to live together. So Ruggo and Blackberry were left on thier own. Ruggo grieved for the loss of his wife, while Blackberry seemed to be on holiday. So,with no knowledge of where exactly they had gone, the rumor started that Blackberry had caught Justilo and Peony together and murdered them. There was no evidence of such a thing, which is why the Thain never took action."

"But she's just so little," Dwalin protested. "How would she dispose of the bodies?"

"There were many theories on how she'd actually done that. Meantime, one of the Took boys took a holiday to Buckland and saw Justilo and Peony living there. He comes home and reports to the Thain, the Thain pulls Ruggo and Blackberry aside and explains what's been found. Ruggo flies into a rage and claims he's going to Buckland to kill Justilo with his bare hands. He borrows a pony from his cousin and rides off. Blackberry chooses to get hideously drunk. At this stage she's in the Green Dragon and decides to honor the occasion with a song."

"How did the song go?" Bofur asked. 

"I don't remember," Bilba lied. "But the chorus went 'My ball and chain/is in a shallow grave/So hit me 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4/I don't have to suffer anymore!'"

"You don't remember any other words?" Bofur teased. 

"Anyway," Bilba continued firmly. "Ruggo makes it to Buckland and tracks down Justilo and Peony. Peony sees Ruggo and throws herself weeping into his arms. She's begging for forgiveness and to be allowed to come home in the middle of the marketplace. Well, Ruggo still loved her, so he brought her back to Hobbiton and the Thain sent a few lawkeepers down to find Justilo."

"Was the lass taken against her will?" Dori asked, brows knitting.

" . . . no. She admitted that she left of her own accord because Justilo was so - seemed so charming. But the gild wore off of the lily quickly. Justilo had no cares beyond smoking pipeweed; not setting up thier new smial, not earning money to feed the both of them and when Peony told him of her plans to return to Hobbiton . . .Then she was forced to stay." 

A thundercloud passed over Dwalin's face at the thought of such a clod having power over such a tiny thing as Blackberry.

"Justilo is down at the work farm now. He's to be there for the next ten years at least. The Thain gave Blackberry an annulment. She took up her maiden name again and started making brandy and liqueurs."

"Halfling filth," Dwalin snarled. At Bilba's look, he clarified. "That husband of hers. Laying his hands on ladies. Bastard."

"Actually . . . at the trial, Blackberry testified that he'd never struck her. Because he hinted that he would once and she drove a butcher knife through his trousers and into the chair he was sitting on. And clearly stated that if he ever made good on his promise to hit her, she wouldn't miss a second time."

Nori burst into hysterical laughter. Bofur joined him quickly. 

"Oh, Dwalin, she's _perfect!_ " Bofur howled. "Just skip the whole courtship and propose now!"


	2. Unexpected Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it appears there might be something more than passing acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting up with the Walk of Shame when you didn't even do anything.

Blackberry had a feeling the rumor mill had been hard at work in the scant few hours since the end of the harvest festival. Heads turned as she pushed her cart through the market. Hobbit men stared and exchanged disapproving looks. Hobbit women giggled behind their hands. Usually her antics prompted the opposite reaction; men would laugh and women would shake their heads. Why the change? Were the men suddenly worrying about a dwarf 'stealing' a second hobbit woman? They could simply ignore the fact that Bilba had been the resident eccentric - she was too rich to be crazy so she had to be eccentric. And Blackberry hadn't been stolen. Even if she had, she was the resident mad woman; it's not like she had a lot of suitors. 

Not even realizing she was near, Blackberry pushed her cart in front of the forge. She pushed it in front of the forge just as Dwalin threw open the doors for business. The pair stared at each other in a moment of awkward silence. Blackberry flourished her skirt in a half-hearted curtsey.

"Good morning," she said.

"'Morning," Dwalin returned with a half bow.

"Thank you for seeing me home," Blackberry blurted. "It was very kind of you."

"Not at all," he growled, studying the ground.

There was another minute of straining, awkward silence. 

"Well, good day," the hobbit woman said with an even weaker swing of her skirt.

"Good day," the dwarf returned, nodding.

Blackberry heaved her weight into the cart, pushing it towards the inn. Around her, conversation suddenly buzzed as though she and Dwalin had torn each other's clothes off and rutted in the middle of the market place. Not that it wasn't an idea, certainly; that simple tunic he wore was cut to accentuate the already impressive width of his shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist. Hobbits weren't built like that. Blackberry peeked over her shoulder to see if she really enjoyed the sight as much as she thought. To her shock, Dwalin was watching her leave. She blushed like a tween having her first crush and pushed her cart faster.

Dwalin ripped his eyes away from the lass. Damn, she'd caught him looking. Why was he looking, anyway? She was tiny and skinny and frail and didn't have a single trait considered beautiful by dwarves. _That hair_ , a traitorous thought reminded him. Well, yes, she did have amazing hair. Longer than any other hobbit lass he'd seen and the volume of it! She had to keep it in a braid, too. Couldn't choose a hobbit-y option, like a bun or a twist or just cropping it short like Bilba - cutting that hair would be a damn crime. The curls made her braid fatter than any dwarf lass could hope to acheive without artificial help. She should add some small braids and beads and weave them in - stopping this thought right now. Next thing he'd be picturing her naked. With wet hair. By Mahal, how long would it be straight? 

Thorin caught the eye of his countryman and raised an eyebrow. Against his will, Dwalin was probably blushing again.

"What?" he growled.

"I didn't say a damn thing," Thorin said, turning back to the orders in his hands. "After all, I'm the last dwarf on Middle Earth to say anything about lusting for hobbit women."

Dwalin was struck dumb.

"Just imagine her beard has fallen onto her feet. It helps until you get used to how hairless they are," Thorin said, trying to hide a smile as he turned away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

"Blackberry! I heard a rumor about you!"

Blackberry moaned out loud and put her head down on the counter. Rosemary Heavyhearth frowned.

"Not true?" The innkeeper's wife surmised.

"No!" Brandywine snarled.

Rosemary looked down at the tiny winemaker.

"You'd be in a better mood if it were true," she offered.

Against her own will, Blackberry snickered.

"I'd likely not be able to walk but not care," she said.

The pair giggled conspiratorially. Rosemary was all right. She knew some filthy songs herself, but really enjoyed Blackberry's abuse of the medium. And that whole thing with her husba-- with her former husband -- sometimes you just had to lay down the law. Peony Whistlestop wasn't a great deal taller than Blackberry; that bastard Justilo was likely looking for a small woman to push around.

"So did that big dwarf help you home last night?"

"He did . . . but that was all. I may have invited him to do more, but he simply saw me home."

Rosemary raised an eyebrow sharply. Blackberry responded with a shrug.

"What?! I was drunk, he was fine . . . Someone has to see if it's true what they say about dwarves."

"Bilba Baggins! That was our sacrifical lamb!" Rosemary laughed. "Since she's been married to one for ten years now!"

"Ahhh, she isn't telling tales out of school," Blackberry groused, stealing a gingersnap from a bowl on the counter.

Marro Heavyhearth brought out a case of empty bottles. 

"Same again, plus six bottles of peach brandy, my lass!" He bellowed. Marro spoke louder than most people shouted.

"How old, Marro?" Blackberry asked.

"Five years?" 

"All right, I can do six bottles at five years old."

"Right then, my love!" Marro didn't ask about the rumor swirling about Blackberry. His darling Rosemary was fast friends with the winemaker; he'd soon hear the truth. Blackberry and Marro loaded up the empties, then she dragged her full cart back to her smial.

Dwalin was very careful to stay in the forge as she passed. Blackberry was very careful not to peer through the door looking for him.

And the conversation buzzed like a swarm of bees.


	3. Just Plain Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin and Blackberry have a heart to heart, then see how some other body parts fit together.

Dwalin, son of Fundin, Captain of the Guard of Ered Luin, was not avoiding a tiny hobbit woman. No. The fact that he ducked back inside the forge when he saw Blackberry making the rounds with her cart was coincidence. Thorin never said anything, just gave him looks, which was somehow more annoying. Bofur and Nori teased him gently, lest they manage to actually anger the large dwarf. And Balin and Dori asked after 'his young lady' every chance they got. 

A cold autumn rain was beginning to drench Hobbiton with a drizzle that could last for hours. Thorin was off taking measurements for iron fixtures for one of the great smials. Dwalin started closing up the shutters to keep the worst of the rain out. He didn't hear the tell-tale rattle of Blackberry's cart but turned around to find the lady in question approaching the forge. 

For a moment he considered leaping inside the forge. No, no that would be cowardice. 

"Good day, Mistress Brandywine," he declared.

Blackberry kept walking. It wasn't the time of day she was usually in town and she was without her wine cart. She had her thick brown shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. And she had an expression on her face as though she had just been ordered to put her head through a brick wall and was trying to figure out the best way to do it.

"Mistress Brandywine?"

The rain was already beginning to plaster her hair against her face and back. She didn't have a cloak or hood. In fact, she didn't even seem to have noticed the rain. Or Dwalin. Surely she wasn't going to walk all the way home in this; she would be soaked through before she was half-way there.

"Blackberry?"

Hearing her first name seemed to startle the winemaker out of her reverie. She looked at Dwalin as though she wasn't sure where he had come from.

"Master Dwalin . . . I . . . ah, I need to get home. . ."

"You can't walk all that way with no cloak. Wait out the rain in the forge."

Blackberry looked up at the sky. Yes, that was frigid water sluicing over her. For a second she looked as though she wanted to protest, then stepped inside. 

Eyes still a thousand miles away, Blackberry approached the forge, warming her hands before the coals. Dwalin followed her. This was different from the flirty, saucy lass he was expecting. Something was clearly terribly wrong.

"What's the matter, love?" _Lass, damn it all; he'd meant to say 'lass'!_

"You're a warrior," Blackberry observed. "What's the best way to kill someone with a knife?"

Dwalin's brows rose at the question, but there was no frivolity in Blackberry's voice.

" . . . kitchen knife?" he asked. 

Only the slightest movement of her chin answered him.

"From the front or the rear?"

" . . . . from the front," the hobbit woman answered after a few moments. "I don't propose to wait until he's finished."

That statement certainly raised a lot of questions. 

"The throat's always good," Dwalin said calmly, as though they were discussing the weather. "But it might be hard for you to reach and people tend to protect it very well. Piercing the stomach will do the job but it's slow."

As he spoke, the dwarf warrior plucked a newly-finished knife from a box and held it against his stomach. After a moment, he moved it lower.

"There's a spot on the inside of the thigh; cut that and he'll be dead within a minute."

"Within a minute?"

"Aye."

Blackberry took hold of the knife gingerly. 

"How deep is it? How much force do I need to use? Cutting fruit or oxtails?"

Dwalin almost laughed at the description, but Blackberry was bracing herself for a horrific encounter.

"Always go with oxtails. Safer that way. And don't hold it like that; hold it like this. That way you can hide it behind your arm and he won't see it until it's too late. Stab in, then rip the blade out; you'll sever the artery for certain."

"Like a cock's spur!"

"Aye, exactly like's a cock's spur."

Dwalin watched the tiny hobbit practice in silence. 

"Blackberry? Who are you going to murder?"

She quieted, fidgeted with the blade in her hands, then sighed.

"How much of my story have you heard?"

"I heard your husband nipped off with a neighbor, then held her against her will and he'll be ten years at the work farm."

"No, he _got_ ten years at the work farm. He's getting out in a month. And he's decided to challenge the annulment."

"He still thinks you'll be his wife after everything he's done?!"

"His family has cut him off. He has nowhere to stay, no trade, no skills, so he's planning on doing what he did all along; find a woman to leech off of."

"Will your Thain allow such a thing?"

"No, Master Hornblower is good and fair, but Justilo might not be concerned with the legality of his actions. He was always . . . voracious. And he's been at the work farm for a decade. He might have grown a spine."

"No. Those types never do," Dwalin said firmly. He cast a long look at Blackberry. "Have you no father or brothers to watch out for you?"

"I lost my natural family during the Fell Winter. And my adopted father is . . . not very intimidating."

"Oh."

Dwalin had heard talk of the Fell Winter during his stay in the Shire, but paid it no mind. Perhaps it was something to listen for if it had cost one hobbit her entire family.

"Well. Perhaps the rumor mill will have served you well for once," he tried. At her perplexed look, Dwalin added: "If your former husband is such a coward, he may be put off by the 'fact' that you've taken a dwarf for a lover."

For a long moment, Blackberry gave him a blank look. Then a smile crept across her face.

"Good point! And we are all alone in the forge, trapped here by the rain . . ."

"You're probably chilled to the bone and need to dry your clothes . . ."

"Actually--" the playful look slipped from Blackberry's face and she shivered. "Is it all right if I hang up my shawl?"

"Oh, of course, love." _Lass! Dammit!_

Blackberry stripped off her shawl and hung it up. Her skirt was still dripping on the floor. She tried to wring it out as best she could. Dwalin could see she was wearing several petticoats underneath it. 

"You can hang that up as well, lass," _Finally!_ "I'm not some brute that loses my mind at the sight of a bit of lace."

Ironic words considering it only twenty minutes later he had her up against the wall, her legs around his waist and his trousers around his ankles.


	4. Sometimes Your Skin Gets Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we get a peek into the twenty minutes in between a murder tutorial and hawt dwarf-on-hobbit action.

Looking back, it hadn't been the lace on her petticoats. Or the sweet little flowers embroidered on her shift. It was when she tried to tend her hair. There was a small twig tangled in her braid and as Blackberry moved to rip it out by force, Dwalin leaped to protect that amazing hair.

"Don't tear it! I'll help you, love!"

Touching a woman's hair was incredibly intimate by dwarvish standards. Most women would have slapped his face for even making such a bold offer. But Blackberry offered him her tangled hair with no qualms. Oh Mahal. Here it was, then. He got to touch her hair. Her damp, clingy hair that even wet tried to curl around his fingers. Lacking a comb, Dwalin raked his fingers through it gently, unbraiding her hair to the snag, then delicately removed the offending twig and cast it onto the glowing coals of the forge. He should stop there. He was already past the point of decency. 

"Your hands are so huge, but you're so gentle," Blackberry observed. There was no saucy flirtation in her voice, just warmth. She smiled at him. And how could he stop after that?

"If you were my lady, I'd braid your hair every day," he murmured, working higher. "Braids for beauty, strength, and passion." 

"Are they all different?" Blackberry wondered.

"Oh yes; every style and configuration tells you about the dwarf. It's a bit like you hobbits and your flowers."

Blackberry smiled at the hulking warrior, then looked over his beard and hair.

"You don't wear any braids," she observed.

"I . . . I don't like being easily read," he answered.

Blackberry let it go and leaned into the carding fingers. He certainly couldn't stop then. Dwalin massaged the crown of her head and fluffed up the curls that fell over her right eye. And as if he'd done it every day, Dwalin ran his thumb along the inside of one pointed ear.

Now, if the younger son of Fundin had been more proactive, he might have asked Thorin if there was anything he should be aware of when wooing a hobbit woman. And Thorin would likely have tipped him off that touching a hobbit's ears was equivalent to putting your hands into her undergarments. But Dwalin hadn't asked Thorin. So he was quite unprepared when Blackberry let out a moan and arched against him. When a woman made that noise, well, you simply had to kiss her. So Dwalin had. And there was more kissing, and groping, and hasty removal of clothing and then he was sliding inside her. Blackberry made a noise that was half moan, half shout.

"Am I hurting you?" Dwalin growled.

"No, don't stop," she snarled back.

There was little sweetness to be had, that first time. It was entirely about release. Grunting and growling, biting and clawing until they thrashed their way to mutual climax. Dwalin was trying to hold back; it had been a long time but still. Wait; what was that? As Blackberry began to whimper and moan, the heat inside of her suddenly increased sharply. What was that?! It felt amazing, but he assumed this would be the same as coupling with a dwarf woman! Hot fluid gushed down Dwalin's legs as Blackberry screamed and dragged him along with her. The large dwarf tried to collapse as gently as possible, ending up on the floor with his halfling lover in a boneless puddle on his chest. They panted as if they'd just fought a battle. 

"Fuck, I needed that!" Blackberry declared.

Dwalin laughed. He couldn't help it; he'd never heard a woman say that word before, much less a tiny, wee, sweet-looking, hobbit maid. He gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

"I did, too, love."

They lay in a pile for a few minutes longer, letting their hearts and breathing calm. Dwalin rolled to the side, catching Blackberry in the crook of his arm. The tiny hobbit lay trustingly against his chest, cheeks flushed and breasts bared. 

"I have to ask; do all hobbit women make such a mess when they peak?"

"How should I know?" Blackberry asked. When this teased a laugh out of Dwalin, she shook her head. "I don't think it's common. Did you like it?" 

"It was incredible! I just wasn't expecting it." 

And his trousers were now soaked with her fluids. Dwalin tried to kick them off without disturbing his wee lover. Because she did look so delicious half dressed and fully rogered. That was a picture he'd take with him when the road got dark. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Thorin returned to the forge, it was still raining. He was almost glad he wasn't home for this hours-long drizzle; Bilba would be climbing the walls. The exiled King Under the Mountain set his toolbox down by the door and pushed back the hood of his cloak.

Dwalin was fucking Blackberry Brandywine on the floor of the forge.

The pair hadn't noticed him yet; Dwalin was on his back with Blackberry riding him like an unbroken pony. How long had they been going at it? It smelled like a brothel in here! Blackberry arched her back, clutching at Dwalin's wrists while she moaned out a rising aria of lust. The dwarf warrior snarled out a guttural string of Khuzdul which was mostly nonsense anyway. The pair clutched at each other and wailed as they climaxed together. Blackberry collapsed on Dwalin's chest. The younger son of Fundin managed to pat his tiny lover on the back, still sporting a ridiculous grin. 

Then he looked to his right and locked eyes with Thorin. Blackberry noticed Dwalin's sudden stillness. She lifted her head to follow his gaze. Aaaand immediately put her hand over her face when she saw they had an audience.

"I'm . . . . I'm going to go over to the bakery for a hot bun," Thorin announced, as if his brother-in-arms wasn't sprawled naked and sticky on the floor. "Did you want anything?"

Blackberry burst into giggles.

"No thank you," Dwalin returned. "I'm good."

Thorin nodded casually and quickly fled to the bakery, rain be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post an image to explain why Dwalin is so hot and bothered over Blackberry's hair. In case it doesn't work, here's a link----> https://pre00.deviantart.net/8d71/th/pre/f/2018/107/0/0/dress_to_impress_by_sparklinburgndy-dc91ppr.jpg


	5. Now What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our hero and heroine have to figure out what happens next.

Thorin got his hot bun and a mug of drinking chocolate and took a seat by the window. Presently, a small figure emerged from the forge. It was wrapped in a green cloak many times too big for it. Oh dear . . . mad, passionate trysts were one thing. But Dwalin was loaning her his cloak now? Perhaps there was something there. 

Thorin finished his snack and returned to his place of business. Dwalin was mopping the floor wearing his undershirt, tunic, and nothing else. His trousers were hung up in front of the forge.

"It smells like a cathouse in here," Thorin said without preamble.

"You should have warned me about hobbit women," Dwalin returned. "It would have helped to know that they're secretly river goddesses."

"'River goddesses'?"

"Aye, you conduct a fertility rite and they spring forth a river." At Thorin's blank look, Dwalin shrugged. "Blackberry does it."

"Is it too late to warn you about the ears?"

"Yes. That's what started this whole mess," Dwalin said, gesturing to the wet floor. 

"You touched her ears and ended up rolling around on the floor together?! The first time I touched Bilba's ears, she slapped me!"

"I guess you don't have my charm," Dwalin said simply.

The pair burst out laughing. It felt good. It had been a long time since they laughed together this way. Thorin was glad to have that part of Dwalin back. He didn't mention the state of the forge, or the questionable honor of having a lady you weren't even courting.

And he was very careful not to mention Dis.

Thorin's sister would have been happy that Dwalin had healed enough to even consider giving his heart to another. But the exiled King Under the Mountain wasn't sure Dwalin had healed enough to realize that was happening. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blackberry might have walked home alone, but smials had windows and more than a few hobbits gawked as she passed, cheeks rosy, a smile on her face, and a dwarvish cloak wrapped around her like a blanket. Word of Justilo's appeal on the annulment had already gotten around; she should at least look worried. But what did she have to worry about with the fiercest dwarf the Shire had ever seen watching over her? 

Customers at the bakery had noted that Thorin spent very little time in the forge before coming over for a snack and hadn't gone back until Blackberry had left, though personal opinion on the reason why ranged more towards giving Dwalin and the tiny winemaker some privacy to talk rather than what had actually been going on. 

Tongues continued to wag, as they were wont to do. Indeed, as they had been doing since the Harvest Festival. One particular tongue decided to wag to someone who might be able to inject some truth into the conversation. 

"Sooooooo . . . Bilba," Primula Brandybuck started. "Are we going to have another dwarf settling in Hobbiton soon?"

Primula had been one of the first hobbits to meet Thorin, Fili, and Kili when they arrived. She'd saved up money for clothing babysitting the two dwarflings when they were young enough to need it, and now helped out the Queen Under the Hill when she had a hole full of dwarves to cook for. Bilba sighed.

"I don't know if there's anything between Dwalin and Mistress Brandywine," Bilba said calmly. "But I think it's time to find out. Kili!"

Kili popped his head into the kitchen. The young dwarf was quick and used to running all over town making small deliveries for his uncle.

"Yes, Auntie?"

"Do you know where Blackberry Brandywine lives? Out on Mushroom Trail? She has a purple door."

"Yes," Kili stated neutrally. 

He didn't mention he knew where she lived because at the first whiff of rumor, he and Fili had carefully staked out the smial. Dwalin had nearly been their stepfather and both lads still bore him a great deal of affection.

Bilba held up one finger for patience, then nipped into her study and came out with an envelope. 

"Run down and invite her to dinner tonight. About eight o'clock. Leave this if she isn't at home."

Kili had the envelope in hand and was bolting out of the door before the two hobbit women could blink. Bilba nearly shouted after him to take his cloak but saw the young dwarf throwing it around his shoulders as he tore off down Bagshot Row. Primula gave Bilba a wide-eyed look.

"A bit of cabin fever?" she offered.

"Perhaps." 

Bilba had no idea why Kili ran like his heels were on fire. In fact, though Fili and Kili had been discreetly stalking Blackberry Brandywine in the last fortnight, they were both far past the age where it was forgivable to strike up conversations with strange women. There had been no proper way to determine what Blackberry's intentions were. Now, though . . . oh now, he had a perfect reason! 

Blackberry only beat Kili to her smial by a few minutes. She hung up Dwalin's cloak and put the kettle on for tea when her doorbell rang. Damn, she was hoping she could change but --

To her utter astonishment, it was Kili, Thorin and Bilba's nephew. Blackberry really hadn't had any interaction with the young dwarves. She had only heard they were forthright, skilled in woodcraft, and courageous. If she'd had any thought about Fili and Kili before, it had been inherent jealousy that Thorin had managed to provide Bilba with two fine sons even though Yavanna hadn't blessed their union directly.

It was petty but there you were.

"My aunt has invited you to dinner tonight, around eight o'clock!" Kili declared, holding out the letter.

"Oh. Thank you. . . oh come in out of the rain, lad! I've just put the kettle on; you can have a nice hot cup of tea before you head back." 

Kili all but beamed as he bounded inside. He was a genius!

Blackberry opened the envelope and read the simple invite as Kili hung up his cloak. The Brandywine smial was much smaller than Bag End, with entryway, sitting room and kitchen all crammed into one open space. There were a few doors branching off to other rooms, but this was likely it for public space.

"It's nice, this place," the young dwarf said, nodding.

"Thank you; I did it myself."

Kili blinked at his hostess, then looked around the room again, thinking he had misheard her.

"You --?"

"I dug Bramble's Edge myself," Blackberry repeated. The young dwarf's confusion must have shown. "After my former husband was sent to the workfarm, his family wanted the smial back. What family I have left was not amused by the scandal. They let me stay for a while, but they were all but shoving me out of the door the whole time. I couldn't afford to buy a smial so I dug this one."

Kili gave the tiny hobbit a long, calculating look.

"How?"

"One spade full at a time."

The kettle whistled. Blackberry busied herself making tea for the two of them.

"So . . . Bilba Baggins invited me to dinner?"

"Yes. I expect she's - well, everyone's curious about you. About you and Dwalin."

"Ahhhhh," Blackberry sighed.

" . . . What is there between you and Dwalin?" Kili asked, losing all his subtlety.

"I'm not sure yet," she answered. 

Kili frowned. 

"How can you not be sure?"

"Because love is a dance. You can have all the right steps and the rhythm and style, but if your partner doesn't co-operate, you're just flailing around like a fool. Some -- good things have happened . . . some very, very good things -- but it's too soon to tell if it's real or not."

"It's real," Kili said firmly. "Dwarves say what they mean."

Blackberry smiled sadly.

"You're very protective of Dwalin," she observed.

"He was nearly my stepfather," Kili said. "Fili's, too."

"'Nearly?' What happened?"

"My mother was murdered," the young dwarf revealed. "Just before the wedding. . . . we have a cairn for her in the back yard but I don't remember what she looked like."

"I - I had no idea! I'm so sorry! Did they catch who did it?" Blackberry asked.

Emotions flickered over Kili's face. Auntie Bilba didn't like to discuss such things with them, but Thorin believed his heirs should at least know the truth of what happened to their mother - what very well might happen to them if someone learned the Durins were staying here. 

"No . . . . no one ever paid for it."

Blackberry squirmed. That story made her own seem like a tale for a child's bedtime. What did you say to such a thing? And Dwalin . . . the poor man! Robbed of not only a wife, but two sons in the same stroke! 

"W-what was her name?"

"Dis. Her name was Dis."

"I'm so very sorry for your loss."

Kili shrugged, taking a drink of his tea.

"Well, if Dwalin cares for you, then he does. He wouldn't lie."

"That's as may be, lad, but it's not quite that simple."

"Yes it is! Don't you care for him?"

" . . . My heart is full when I'm by his side. But--"

"Then that's that!" Kili declared, emptying his tea cup. "I'll see you tonight at dinner!"

The youngest Durin swept his cloak around his shoulders and headed back out into the rain. Blackberry watched him go, shaking her head in disbelief. 

"The Valar help the woman he falls in love with," she said to herself.


	6. Unexpected Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know the Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been fighting with this story for so long you have no idea. It wasn't helped by the fact that I had to beat it into submission to get a happy ending out of it. 
> 
> It seems kind of short to me but that's because most of it is songfic. Blackberry is pretty much defined by the Rumjacks so I had to have her sing their songs. I even got to do a little lyric writing to edit out modern technology. So instead of 'punching out the jukebox' she's 'kicked over the gaming board'. The last two verses of 'Jolly Executioner' are about the electric chair and lethal injection, so I changed it to poisoning and just not executing anyone. 
> 
> Jolly Executioner  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NOode7Bpww
> 
> Me Old Ball and Chain  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJbPP9rLZC8

That evening saw Blackberry ringing the bell at Bag End, her red party dress on, her mandolin on her back, and a bottle of wine in the crook of her arm. Hooooooo boy, this was where the midden hit the windmill. Gasping, clawing moments of raw animal lust were one thing. It remained to be seen if Dwalin would actually be happy to see her again. Kili seemed to think so. Then again, the young dwarf had a child's grasp of love. It wasn't nearly as simple as he thought.

The door flew open. Dwalin stood in the doorway. Before Blackberry could so much as muster a smile, he stepped out onto the porch with her, slamming the door behind him. Oh bloody hell; here it was. He was happy to roll around the forge with her but in front of his family . . . 

Blackberry squeaked as the massive dwarf bore down on her, but it soon melted into a coo as Dwalin took her in his arms and kissed her. Oh . . . oh, that was much better! Blackberry started to snake her arms around his neck, but Dwalin pulled back.

"Sorry, love. I had to sneak one on the porch."

For the first time, the tiny winemaker noticed he was holding the front door shut with his free hand. It was rattling violently as several people tugged on it hard.

"Dwalin! Let us see the lass!" Someone bellowed.

"Snog her in here, we don't mind!"

"It's very improper to kiss ladies without supervision! I mean--" The last was met with a roar of laughter.

"They sound fun," Blackberry observed.

"Aye; hope you like 'rowdy', lass."

By way of answer, Blackberry planted a deep kiss on Dwalin – and jerked hard on his thumb so that he lost his grip on the door. A pile of dwarves collapsed in the entryway of Bag End. Bilba stood just behind them, as if experience had taught her exactly how much room a pile of dwarves required. Bofur, flat on his back, looked up at the lady of the house and held up the door handle sheepishly. 

“You might want to get this fixed.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Introductions were made. Wine was passed around and the whole group settled down to dinner. The small talk was quite formal and polite, until. . . 

“Mistress Brandywine, have your family been winemakers long?” Dori asked.

“I’m only the second generation of winemaker,” Blackberry said apologetically. “Before that we were executioners.”

The assembled party broke out in coughing and choking.

“We had to change trades because of a lack of custom, before you ask,” Blackberry continued. “Even my dear old dad only ever hung one.”

“’Hung one?’” Nori asked.

“Yes. The last execution method hobbits favored was being hanged by the neck until dead,” Blackberry said.

“Dwarves still remove the head,” Balin said with a nod. 

“That was in my great grandsire’s time,” Blackberry said. “I’ve still got great granddad’s axe somewhere. It’s dwarven steel. I can barely lift it.”

“That’s quite a leap from executioner to winemaker,” Bofur chuckled.

“Well, my mum thought the next idea in execution would be poison, so she educated us in herbs, medicines, fruits, and fermentation. Wine just came from that naturally.”

Dwalin frowned and leaned down until his whiskers were tickling the hobbit lass’s pointed ear.

“If you’re one of the few hobbits that actually knows how to kill, why were you asking me earlier, luv?” he murmured.

“Because all my methods require them to be restrained,” she returned in the same soft voice. In a normal tone, she continued: “It made for some interesting lullabies, I can tell you.

_It’s said his blade weighed half a ton,_  
That dwarven steel, gods, how it shone  
With a whistle and thump  
Yer dash were done  
And the ax cared not for who you were. 

__

__

__He kept a cell below the tower__  
Where he signed the cross  
Every half an hour  
With a calfskin drum and a ratatatat  
The jolly executioner . . . “

Every dwarf in the room appeared to be hanging on Blackberry’s words, so she upped the tempo and belted out the lyrics she knew from her childhood.

“ _He had a son, a drunken sailor,_  
Could have been a tinker, tyke or tailor  
Sailed away to far Breelandia  
To be the executioner

__

His noose was short  
His rope were tight  
He braid the hemp by candlelight  
With a crack and thump ye’d bade goodnight  
To the jolly executioner. 

Ah, string ‘em up and stretch ‘em well!  
Bind the eyes and strike a bell  
Pipe their rotten souls to Hell  
For the jolly executioner! 

Then some bloke with a sash and key  
Saw that water hemlock’s free  
And the job were handed down to me  
So fortunate you wish you were. 

Boil it up and drink it down!  
Raise a glass to all around  
Dance like they were on the town  
For the jolly executioner! 

Hobbit folk, a breed apart  
Kindness that could break your heart  
Brought death to a dying art  
No need for an executioner. 

Solicitors and endless pleas  
Work farms and parolees  
A noble art brought to its knees  
Farewell to the executioner! 

He kept a cell below the tower  
Where he signed the cross  
Every half an hour  
With a calfskin drum and a ratatatat  
The jolly executioner! 

Ah, string ‘em up and stretch ‘em well!  
Bind the eyes and strike a bell  
Pipe their rotten souls to Hell  
For the jolly executioner! 

_Boil it up and drink it down!_  
Raise a glass to all around  
Dance like they were on the town  
For the jolly executioner!”/p >

This rather dark little ditty was met with cheers and fists thumping on the table.

“Your granddad wrote that?” Nori asked.

“I wrote the last two verses,” Blackberry said, shrugging.

“I’ve heard you’re quite the songsmith,” Bofur said with clear delight. “There’s a certain song I’ve heard of that you wrote. I’m afraid I simply must hear it.”

“I’m happy to oblige such an eager audience,” Blackberry said, lifting her glass.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hand me down a bottle of old brandy from the shelf  
I’ll have a beer to follow it and take one for yourself  
I’ve enough to piss for ten long years and I’ve a bloody thirst  
And I won’t be leaving here until you carry me feet first!  
Til I trip over the instruments and fall through the band  
And I told the bouncing geezer, ‘Mate, shout if you need a hand!’  
I’m screaming o’er the bar and I’m spitting in your ear  
I’m signing with my hands for you give me another beer-i-o!

Me old baaaaaaaalll and chain  
Is in a shallow grave!  
So hit me 1, 2, 1234  
I don’t have to suffer anymore!”

Dinner was over. Many more drinks had been quaffed in the meantime. A rosy tint had taken over Blackberry’s cheeks. While the tiny hobbit hadn’t had more to drink than anyone else, her ridiculously small size assured she felt it much more than anyone else. Blackberry was the quintessential cheap date.

“ _Til I’ve kicked over your gaming board and broken all your darts_  
And I’ve talked the ears my reflection in the glass  
I’ve spewed all down the front of me  
And pissed all down my leg  
And I’m propped up in the corner like a fucking rusty keg!”

Bilba cringed. Blackberry had made the plea that one really needed to be drunk to sing this song properly and Thorin had refused to send Fili and Kili to bed. He had claimed the lads were old enough to hear some rude drinking songs. Dori had sent Ori to bed, but Bag End wasn’t that large and the dwarf maid was bound to get her vocabulary expanded.

“ _Me old baaaaaaaalll and chain_  
Is in a shallow grave!  
So hit me 1, 2, 1234  
I don’t have to suffer anymore!”

Bofur had picked up the melody on tin whistle and backed up Blackberry while she played her mandolin. Dwalin even broke out his violin to help.

“ _Til I’m snoring like a longsaw and I’m laying there catching flies_  
And you, you cheeky bugger pops two pennies in me eyes.  
Gods love you and protect you  
Get your knees up, Mrs. Brown!  
She’s topped her flaming hubby and she’s torn up half the town!

 _Me old baaaaaaaalll and chain_  
Is in a shallow grave!  
So hit me 1, 2, 1234  
I don’t have to suffer anymore!”

While it obviously was a requirement to sing the song drunk, it certainly would have helped to listen to it drunk as well, Bilba reflected. Of the dwarves assembled, only Dori seemed upset and Balin was pouring another glass of wine down him to help. Even Thorin was laughing heartily. The musicians finished their melody and gave a bow to ringing applause. After they set down their instruments, Dwalin swept up Blackberry, swung her around in a swirl of petticoat lace, then gave her a kiss. The assembled party cheered and clapped. There was a round of: ‘Another! Another!’ ‘They make a lovely couple!’ and other such niceties. It was left to poor Dori, finally starting to feel his wine, to blurt out:

“I haven’t seen Dwalin so happy since Dis passed.”

Silence rang through the heretofore rollicking house. Everyone stared at Dori, his face beet red behind his white beard. Whether it was from the wine or what had just come out of his mouth was up for debate. 

“I – I didn’t mean – I’m terribly sorry!” he stammered. 

The teahouse owner turned and fled towards the bedrooms. Balin followed him quickly, intent on soothing his lover.

After that, the party broke up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You always end up walking me home,” Blackberry observed.

“The nights are getting too cold to run the risk of spending them outdoors,” Dwalin reflected. Blackberry was a bit drunk, after all. “We’ll get the first season’s snow tonight.”

Blackberry looked at him as though he were mad.

“It’s far too warm for snow!”

“I’ve broken enough bones to know when it’s coming. It’s either a thunderstorm or snow. And it’s far too cold for thunderstorms.”

“I hate snow!” Blackberry said mournfully. “At least all the sensitive crops are in already.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t fear the cold so much if you dressed more for it,” Dwalin suggested.

Blackberry hitched her coat tighter around her shoulders. 

“I wasn’t expecting snow tonight . . .”

“I meant wear shoes.”

“Bite your damn tongue, you dwarvish bastard!”

“I see you bloody Halflings walking around barefoot in the snow and then complaining about the cold! You’re too wee to keep warm as it is. I’m getting you a pair of boots.”

“Don’t you bloody dare!”

“I’ll tie them on so tight you’ll have to cut them off,” Dwalin teased.

“No!!!!”

Blackberry fled towards her smial. Dwalin chased her playfully until she was at the purple door of Bramble’s Edge. This time she didn’t ask him to come in. This time she didn’t have to. The first fat snowflakes were just starting to tumble down as the pair disappeared inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And AooO refuses to let me keep the lyrics in italics. It keeps trying to correct me: 'Oh, I'm sure you only meant the first line.' Me: *redoes the tags for the third time* No, that is not what I meant!
> 
> AooO: . . . I'm pretty sure you're wrong. *'corrects' it again*


	7. Harsh Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet the ex-husband and Dwalin sees the full effect of just having the idiot walking around.

“Mister Dwalin! Justilo is bothering Blackberry!” Primula yelped, bounding into the forge. Thorin, Dwalin, and a half score of hobbit males turned to stare at her. “If – If someone were bothering me in such a way, I’d want someone to step in,” she squeaked.

Dwalin didn’t remember deciding to storm out of the forge. At some point he had ripped off his apron and was striding out of the door. He hesitated for a moment, not realizing where to go, but started towards Mushroom Trail. Primula was suddenly skipping ahead of him, gesturing at him to hurry.

He followed her down to the bridge before the sound of raised voices reached his ears.

“I just want to talk!” A male voice he didn’t recognize.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Blackberry’s voice. Dwalin could hear the rattle of her wine cart.

“You should – she doesn’t want – you should leave her alone.” Drogo’s uncertain squeak.

“Boy, what do you—“ the first voice began to sneer.

“Fuck off, taint goblin!” 

Dwalin bit back a laugh. That was definitely his Blackberry. Well, it sounded like she had things well in han—

“Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!”

Dwalin’s heart lurched. He ran to the crest of the small hill above the bridge, leaving Primula behind. Just this side of the bridge, Blackberry’s wine cart sat cockeyed where it had rolled away from her. Some strange male halfing – large for his species – had his hand locked around Blackberry’s forearm. Drogo had a hand on each of their forearms, trying fruitlessly to pry them apart. A few other hobbits watched with wide eyes.

“You must stop this now!” the hobbit youth declared, only the faintest quiver in his voice. “This is not how you treat ladies! You’re a – you’re a – you’re a blaggard!”

Primula’s hands went to her mouth. She was desperately concerned for her beau, but couldn’t deny being deeply impressed by his bravery. Dwalin was already striding towards the group.

“It’s not your concern, boy!” The large hobbit, who could only be Justilo, shoved Drogo with his free hand, wrenching Blackberry to his side. The tiny hobbit woman tried aiming a kick at him, but was pulled off balance by the jerk. Drogo went down, tumbling over backwards into the shallow ditch beside the road. Right around this time, Dwalin arrived on the scene.

Stark fear raced over Justilo’s face.

“It’s all right, Master Dwarf,” he tried. “I’m just having a chat with my wife.”

“SHE’S NOT YOUR WIFE!” Dwalin thundered. 

Blackberry was between the two males, still trying to pry her arm out of Justilo’s grip and directly in the path of what would have been a very satisfying and possibly lethal punch. Dwalin settled for an open palm strike with his off hand. It almost mirrored the shove Justilo had given Drogo, except for the force behind it. Dwalin was pretty certain he felt a rib go. The pain finally forced Justilo to release Blackberry, who staggered back into the dwarf. Justilo slid back onto the boards of the bridge, gaping up at his attacker. The dwarf very deliberately put Blackberry behind him and started forward.

“Dwalin! Don’t kill him, there’s too many people watching!” Thorin bellowed.

They had drawn quite a crowd. Most of the marketplace was peering over the crest of the hill. Thorin and Bofur were starting down the hill, but were quickly passed by three lawkeepers. They spared Dwalin a passing glance, but he was already turning back to Blackberry. 

Two of them yanked Justilo to his feet while the third helped Drogo out of the ditch. 

“Are ye all right, luv?” Dwalin growled.

“My arm hurts,” Blackberry said curtly, cradling her left arm against her stomach. 

“. . . then he grabbed Miss Brandywine and I told him he should stop, but—“ Drogo was explaining things to the lawkeeper.

“Blackberry’s injured!” Dwalin interrupted.

“That dwarf attacked me!” Justilo wailed, pointing an accusing finger at Dwalin. 

Thorin appeared by his side and laid a hand on the big dwarf’s shoulder, but Justilo’s cries were falling on deaf ears.

“Oh, he attacked you? Was that before you started manhandling his sweetheart? Or after you threw the Baggins boy into the ditch?” One of the lawkeepers sneered. The pair dragged him away towards the nearest guard house.

“’Sweetheart’?”

“She’s hurt?” The third lawkeeper asked, stepping in close.

“My arm,” she said stiffly.

“Let’s get you to the doctor,” the guardsman said.

“I’ll come as well,” Dwalin said.

“That’s not necessary--,”

“I want him to come!” Blackberry blurted.

The guardsman nodded.

“Of course, Miss.”

“I’ll handle your wine cart!” Bofur called, waving.

“See that it gets to its destination!” Blackberry yelled around Dwalin’s arm.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Just a sprained wrist, I believe,” the hobbit doctor surmised. “I would say steer clear of Justilo until the lawkeepers decide what to do with him, but—“

The healer’s bright green eyes slid sideways to Dwalin.

“I daresay he will steer clear of you.”

Blackberry managed a chuckle. Doctor Lil Pennyfan was one of five doctors in Hobbiton, but the only one she considered bearable. He was a rotund fellow with half-moon glasses, bright green eyes, and flaming hair about halfway gone silver. He neatly combed the silver bit and let the red curls frizz up as they may, which left casual acquaintances with the impression that his head was on fire. He was also the teacher in herbs and medicines to both Blackberry’s mother and Blackberry herself. He had such an inappropriate streak Blackberry sometimes wondered if he was her natural father. In fact, he had been the one to take her in after the Fell Winter. Pennyfan leaned in as though sharing a great secret, but didn’t drop his voice any.

“A dwarf warrior, you naughty minx! So much hair! And such muscles! You must tell me everything, girl!”

Then again, it didn’t seem as though Lil had a great interest in lasses. But hobbit parties being what they were, you couldn’t rule anything out. Blackberry giggled again. Even Dwalin gave a begrudging smile. 

“And he even smiles when another male compliments his looks!”

“You aren’t the first,” Dwalin said dryly.

“Ooo! Well, let me get a brace for that wrist and you will be as good as new, dear.”

The plump healer bustled off for his supplies. Blackberry’s good humor quickly drained away. Dwalin sighed and bushed his knuckles across her cheek.

“You can tell me, darlin’,” he said simply.

The hobbit maid’s cheeks grew red and tears pooled in her eyes.

“I can’t do this again,” she whispered. “I can’t go back to always being on guard, always wondering if this is the day he catches me by surprise . . .”

The tears began to stream down her face as she cried with distressingly little sound. For the first time since he’d been stepping out with the hobbit woman, Dwalin was suddenly reminded of Dis. 

Just after the Durin princess’s husband had died in the mining accident, he’d stopped by to check on her and found her in much the same position as Blackberry. Fili had been  
asleep in his cot, Kili still snug in her belly. Dis had wept so silently, as if she feared waking them both. And at the time, Dwalin dared not take her in his arms. She was his princess and a widow and a mother and it was far too improper. Without a word, the younger son of Fundin pulled Blackberry into his lap and squeezed her.

“If he even looks at you sideways, I’ll kill him,” Dwalin promised.

“ . . . you’re leaving in the spring,” Blackberry said in a flat voice. “And I’ll be alone again.”

For a long moment, there was no sound but the quiet gasps of the hobbit woman crying. Then Dwalin simply squeezed her as tightly as he dared.


	8. Different Ways to say I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin make a decision . . . with a little help.

“I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT TO DO BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW!” Dwalin thundered, stomping around Bag End.

“You should marry her!” Balin suggested cheerfully. “A sweet little hobbit lass will do you a world of good!”

“Not you!” Dwalin roared.

“You should marry her!” Kili offered. “Her heart is full when she’s by your side; she told me so herself!”

Dwalin snarled in frustration and scrubbed his hands across his face.

“You really _should_ marry her,” Thorin said calmly, quirking an eyebrow. “You know why.”

Bilba took particular notice that her husband had given Dwalin The Eyebrow and made a mental note to worry the details out of him later. Balin also noted this and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother. When the large dwarf’s eyes skimmed over her, Bilba shrugged.

“Should you marry her? I don’t know. You seem to have a lot of reluctance,” the hobbit woman said lightly.

“It’s not that I don’t wish to!” Dwalin blurted. “Blackberry is sweet and saucy and if the rest of the world didn’t exist, we’d be happy all our days!”

“What’s the rest of the world got to do with it?” Bilba prompted, sipping her wine.

“What about my duty to my king?!” Dwalin demanded, gesturing to Thorin. “I keep Ered Luin running on an even keel in his absence and make sure none suspect where he is! Popping home with a wee hobbit maid on my arm would raise a few eyebrows. Why can’t you people be more widely scattered?”

“You keep Ered Luin running all by yourself, do you?” Balin asked coldly.

“’You people’?” Bilba asked just as icily.

"You could say she's from Bree," Fili offered.

“Why don’t the two of you stay here?” Bofur suggested. “It wouldn’t be hard to convince people you’d gotten yourself killed out in the world.”

Dwalin blinked as though that hadn’t occurred to him.

“It would be nice to have another dwarf in residence,” Thorin stated casually. “In case I found myself in need of help.”

“We could help, Uncle!” Kili protested.

Thorin put his finger to his lips and waved his heir away.

“That – that husband . . . former husband of hers, he’s clearly regretting losing her,” Dori offered. “He’s already tried to take her back by force once.”

Balin gave his lover a curious look. Dori shrugged. 

“You know he’ll try again, sweet wee thing that she is,” Bofur said. “Little saucebox with a wicked tongue and poetry in her heart.”

“Um . . . Thorin took mine,” Nori stated simply.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then the whole company burst into laughter. Even Dwalin slapped his thighs and bent over at the waist. The bit of silliness broke the tension and the big dwarf scrubbed his hands over his scalp as he straightened.

“I’m still not sure what—“

“Do you wish to lose this one, too?”

Dwalin went still.

“My sister adored you, but it took you so long to act she moved to another,” Thorin said quietly, staring across the years at nothing in particular. “In the end you two had so little time together. Now your heart has found another. Would you risk losing her as well?”

Bilba expected a row after that. Instead, Balin came to collect his younger brother, Thorin went to his side, and the three of them retired to the study together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A cold front moved in overnight. A howling wind stole under doorways and shook shutters. Precipitation that was half icy rain and half wet snow blanketed Hobbiton. Winter had finally set its teeth into the Shire.

Blackberry was not looking forward to hauling her wine cart to town in this slop, especially with one wrist in a brace. It was hard enough to pack the damn cart one handed. Eyeing the icy slush on the road, she was starting to think Dwalin might have had a point about the shoes. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw the big dwarf coming up the road. Blackberry grinned. She would have been happy to see damn near anyone willing to push her cart for her, but she was especially glad to see her lover. It was absolutely going to kill her when he left in the spring.

“Brought you something,” Dwalin announced when he was at the end of the walkway.

“All I want is you,” Blackberry returned.

The big dwarf ducked his head, looking pleased. Then he produced a pair of boots in her size.

“I’m not having you walk all the way to town barefoot.” He announced gruffly. “Am I going to have to hold you down and put them on?”

Blackberry considered the footwear. In truth, she really didn’t want to walk through the slush. She’d be willing to try the boots just for that fact. But she was thinking of something Lil told her just after she went to live with him.

‘Blackberry, my darling, not everyone says ‘I love you’ with words. Some people can’t say it in words. So they say: ‘Have you eaten? Are you getting enough sleep? Let me do this for you. Do you need anything?’ That’s how they say ‘I love you.’ You need to be sure to listen.’

Justilo said ‘I love you’ the normal way. But he didn’t show up with boots because it was cold or drag her out of the rain or come to push her cart for her. 

It was going to absolutely destroy her when Dwalin left in the spring.

Dwalin, for his part, took Blackberry’s silence for assent. He knelt in front of her and slipped the boots onto her feet. Blackberry’s small hand rested on his shoulder as he lifted one foot, then the other and laced up the custom boots. In truth, they were barely more than waterproof slippers with soft leather for a sole and colorful felt on the top, pulled up in a little point over the toe. Ori and Bofur had knocked them together.

“Well?”

“They feel good,” Blackberry said.

“Good. How is your wrist, does it hurt?”

“It’s not bad.”

“I’ll push the cart, at any rate.”

Dwalin took the wine cart and started towards town. Blackberry walked at his side. After a few minutes, she reached out and snaked her arm around his bicep. Dwalin took his free arm and threw his cloak over her so she could leech some of his heat.

Oh, she was going to _die_ in the spring.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blackberry wasn’t particularly surprised to see Hobbiton empty, especially with this weather. She was a bit surprised to see the forge closed, but perhaps Thorin hadn’t thought it worth opening if everyone was going to stay in today. Which meant Dwalin could have been home staying warm instead of walking her through the ice and cold. 

Tears stung the hobbit woman’s eyes. Luckily, Dwalin didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. That was a bit odd; words usually flowed between them easily. Perhaps he was considering springtime as well.

The lights were on in the inn and Blackberry went to open the door for Dwalin. She opened the door only to be face to face with pretty much all of Hobbiton. The tables groaned under a feast. What few flowers were available this time of year decorated the rafters. And nearly every hobbit she’d ever met, as well as Thorin and his company, stared at her expectantly. Dwalin, dragging the wine cart through the door, did not seem surprised by any of this.

“I don’t think we brought enough wine, luv,” Blackberry said weakly.

“Has he proposed yet?!”

“ _ **KILI!!!!**_ ”

“I’m going to remember that, lad!” Dwalin promised, eyes flashing.

“Pro-posed?”

Dwalin turned to Blackberry, suddenly jittery.

“I don’t know where we’ll live or what we’ll do,” he announced shortly. “And there won’t ever be children. And I’m probably going to get myself killed at some point.”

Many of the hobbits and a few of the dwarves were starting to cringe at this proposal.

“But I’ll never find another perfect wee saucebox like you.”

Dwalin fished a ring out of his pocket. He knelt down but before he could even speak, Blackberry threw herself into his arms.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“You’re supposed to wait for him to ask, you impatient hussy!” Maro thundered, laughing.

“Mind your business!” Blackberry shot back. 

Dwalin laughed and kissed his bride, secretly relieved that he didn’t actually have to say the words. He slipped the ring onto her hand. To dwarven eyes it was a rather low-quality sapphire, dark and of cloudy color. But it was the exact same shade as Blackberry’s eyes. After a few more kisses they got back to their feet. Rosemary brought them both cups of wine. 

“You sneaky thing! You set up an engagement party without me!” Blackberry said, hugging her friend. “If I’d known, I’d’ve brought better wine!”

“Engagement party? Honey, this is the wedding feast!” Rosemary corrected her. 

“Wedding feast? I can’t get married now, we don’t have flower crowns. I guess they aren’t very dwarvish.”

Thorin came forward, grinning evilly. He had not forgotten the teasing he’d received at his own wedding. Dwalin was not getting out of the flower crowns.

“We did the best we could on short notice,” Bilba said, coming up behind him. “Luckily, my Aunt Laurel has a greenhouse.”

The first dwarf’s bride in Hobbiton lifted a garland onto the blonde curls of her soon to be sister-at-arms: crocus for cheerfulness, hyacinths for rashness, and lily-of-the-valley for a return to happiness.

“Wasn’t that fortunate, Dwalin?” Thorin chortled. “Why, you might have missed the flower crowns with a winter wedding.”

“Very lucky,” the bald dwarf growled, eyeing the flowers in his king’s hands.

“This one is spider flower for a hasty wedding,” Thorin announced, pointing. “This one is violet for faithfulness, and this one is viscaria. It’s an invitation to dance.”

“I tried to get him to pick out nicer meanings,” Bilba said, hugging Blackberry. “But that was about as good as it got.

Dwalin sighed. Blackberry would probably let him get away with not wearing flowers on his head – she had even conceded that they weren’t very dwarvish – but he remembered how she wore the boots without protest even though shoes weren’t hobbitish. 

“Just for the ceremony,” Dwalin growled, taking the brightly colored weeds and placing them on his head. 

Nearly every dwarf howled with laughter. Dori and Ori seemed to find the sight charming and Kili had been thrown to the floor and had Nori and Fili standing on his back as punishment for the outburst. 

“Not that it isn’t amusing, but let’s get things going before my almost sister-in-law comes to her senses,” Balin said, gesturing. 

There were parchments spread across a table. The Thain was leaning over them, reading.

“And you say if any of these clauses are violated, the marriage is null and void?”

“Standard dwarven marriage contract,” Balin said with a shrug. “Just the basics; infidelity, abandonment, abuse, criminal dealings. Once the marriage contract is signed, we’ll have a toast to our family, our king, and Mahal, then bind their hands together. They’ll be as husband and wife.”

“Sounds quick,” Master Hornblower said uncertainly.

Blackberry cast a look at Dwalin, who was trying not to glower under his flower crown. 

“We can do a quick dwarvish ceremony,” she said with a grin.

The big dwarf looked relieved.

“After I read the contract,” she said, leaning over the papers with Bertulf Hornblower. 

Thank the gods for the general literacy of hobbits; it only took a few minutes for Blackberry to sign her name. Dwalin signed as well, the toasts were made and their hand bound together with silk and gold ribbon. 

“At least kiss the bride so it feels like a wedding!” The Thain pleaded. 

Dwalin did so, then ripped the flower crown off the second their hands were unbound. This prompted a round of laughter, which led to a toast, which led to drinking and feasting. Shortly after luncheon the newlyweds decided they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other any longer. They rushed upstairs to the inn’s honeymoon suite and within a few minutes, the crowd was cheering as the big chandelier rocked on its chain.

“Well, this was a pleasant surprise!” Bofur announced, putting his feet up on a stool.

“Master Hornblower says he may even institute marriage contracts,” Balin said, a bit of dwarvish pride inflating his chest. “And Our Blackberry is now safe from that annulment annulment.”

“Oh aye. Does the Thain know Dwalin can legally take that twat’s head if he likes?”

“I didn’t mention that part,” Balin admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I meant this to be nine chapters long before starting another story. Now it might be ten or eleven before I start the next bit. This has really blown up into some world-building territory as well. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to present some of it; concurrent stories? Just ditching the main characters for multiple chapters? We'll see. Either way, strap in.


	9. Sickness and Cures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hobbits get a glimpse of dwarf law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably only going to be one more chapter after this, then I'll start a sequel.

The Hobbiton court house was packed. It was only used on rare occasions at any rate and mostly for tedious things about who moved a fence line and how much they were owed. Blackberry Brandywine’s annulment challenge was the court case of the century as far as the Shire was concerned.

Obviously no one expected the Thain to allow the challenge, seeing as how the lady in question was now legally wed to a dwarf warrior. But you heard things about dwarves and maybe there would be a fight or that blaggard Justilo would get what was coming to him . . . 

The appearance of Dwalin, son of Fundin, and Blackberry Brandywine caused the hum of conversation to erupt into a dull roar. Not only was Dwalin decked out in warrior’s kit, complete with twin battleaxes strapped across his back, Blackberry was sporting dwarven finery herself. Her hardy wool hobbit coat had been replaced by a fur lined oilskin cloak. Hobbits still used fur muffs, but anything more than that was considered tacky. Blackberry’s braid spilled out of one side of the hood. Instead of the simple, sloppy, three strand braid she usually used, a very complex six strand braid was neatly woven with ribbons and a smaller braid. When she put her hood back, everyone gasped.

Earrings!

Hobbits hardly ever wore earrings; when they did, simple pearl or glass drops were as great as they got. They certainly didn’t wear large shields of silver at the lobe and tip, both connected by delicate silver chains.

“Blackberry, you look so well!” Rosemary called.

Blackberry smiled at her friend. The susurration took up again, agreeing that she did look well, marriage agreed with her, and her brutish dwarf of a husband was treating her right. In fact, hadn’t she gained weight? Yes, definitely plumper, which as always a good thing as far as hobbits were concerned.

Dwalin and Blackberry went into the courtroom. The viewing gallery was standing room only. Balin sat at the defendant’s table with Miri Elderflower, Blackberry’s hobbit counsel. Bilba, Thorin, and the Company sat in the first row of the viewing gallery, right behind the bench. All the dwarves sat with their knees spread as far as possible. Blackberry stepped through the gate into the courtroom proper and Dwalin looked at his compatriots. Without a word, they all scooted over one space, heretofore wide-spread knees slamming together. Dwalin sat in the newly-opened space.

Justilo Proudfoot glared at his ex-wife from the opposite bench. She smiled at him. Everyone had been so concerned with the earrings and cloak no one had bothered to check her for weapons. Seated criss-cross-applesauce in the small of her back were two wickedly sharp daggers; presents from her new husband. Dwalin had also been tutoring her in their use in between bouts of fucking her on every available surface during their honeymoon. Not that she’d get much use out of them; if Justilo so much as sneezed in her direction, Dwalin would likely take his head off. She really couldn’t believe the lawkeepers hadn’t even challenged him about the axes!

Master Hornblower banged his gavel.

“Order! Order, please!”

The crowd quieted, except for one woman in the back.

“-and her father, mayherestinpeace, was a Stoor and they’re half-way to being dwarves anyway, so –“ The gossip cut off sharply when she realized she was the only one still talking.

“We are gathered today to hear the challenge to the annulment of the marriage between Justilo Proudfoot and Blackberry Brandywine. Master Proudfoot, Mistress Brandywine was granted an annulment after you were tried and convicted for adultery, spousal abandonment, and assault.”

Balin frowned. He had discussed the matter with Master Elderflower in detail and that list of charges skipped over the unfortunate Miss Whistlestop’s detainment entirely. That bastard Proudfoot should have lost his head for that reason alone.

Justilo said nothing, merely glowered. No doubt he’d heard about the surprise wedding at the inn.

“Unfortunately for you, having the marriage annulled left Mistress Brandywine free to wed another – which she did. As Blackberry Brandywine is now lawfully wed to Dwalin, son of Fundin, your challenge has no legal standing. Case dismissed!”

“All right, fine!” Justilo barked. “Let’s talk about how her dwarf husband attacked me on the bridge last week! He broke three of my ribs!”

“Oh yes, let’s talk about that, shall we?” The Thain said with an unpleasant smile. “About half of Hobbiton witnessed Master Dwalin _coming to the aid_ of one Master Drogo Baggins and one Mistress Blackberry Brandywine. In fact, he was defending them from you, Master Proudfoot. Now, not everyone is happy about dwarves in the Shire, but they are very good at defending, are they not? You are hereby formally charged with assault of one Drogo Baggins and one Blackberry Brandywine. Mistress Brandywine will be requiring compensation for the injury done to her.”

Justilo was practically frothing, but Balin stood up.

“I beg your pardon, Master Hornblower, but I may be able to save everyone a bit of time. You see, when Blackberry wed my brother, she came under the protection of dwarf law. She is now, legally, a dwarrowdam.” The white haired dwarf paused and looked back at Blackberry. “A hobbitdam, if you will.”

A titter swept through the crowd at the odd word.

“At any rate, to us this particular hobbit attacked and caused injury to a dam. Her closest male relative – in this case, her husband – is honor-bound to take the head of her assailant.”

A roar shook the courtroom. The mood of the crowd had turned. They were all looking forward to Justilo getting a good thrashing, but decapitation? That was a step too far.

Master Hornblower had to bang his gavel repeatedly to regain order. Once he had done, he gave Balin a wild-eyed look.

“That a bit extreme for a sprained wrist, don’t you think, Master Balin?!”

Balin gave the Thain a look so old-fashioned it had been around for Galadriel’s doll phase.

“Well, let me see if I have things straight,” The white haired dwarf said, his tone suddenly changing to ice. “Justilo Proudfoot was convicted of adultery, spousal abandonment and assault. You seem to have skipped a few charges. Rape, for one. Enslavement of a sentient being, and kidnapping. And a few weeks out of his sentence, he attacks another woman and the young gentleman coming to her aid. Are you planning to wait until he murders a lass before you take action?”

Balin could play the paternal, affable gentleman so well people generally forgot he had a mind as sharp as an executioner’s axe.

The Thain stared at the dwarrow in shock. This part had been well-rehearsed. Thorin’s Company did not actually expect the hobbits to condone killing Justilo, but this was just to let Hobbiton know exactly how dwarrow expected their dams to be treated. Dwalin stood slowly, unfolding to his full five feet.

“The only reason you still draw breath is because Thorin and the lads live here. Otherwise I’d already have wrung your scrawny neck and chucked you into the river!” Dwalin informed Justilo, his voice starting out a dangerous growl before amplifying into a roar. “But now sweet Berry is my _wife_ and it’s my _duty_ to end you!”

The big dwarf drew his axe, prompting gasps and a few cries of shock from the assembled hobbits.

“Dwalin, no!” Blackberry yelled, leaping to her feet.

Justilo gave his former wife a look of hope and relief.

“These are parquet floors!” she continued, gesturing to the intricately laid pattern of light and dark wood. “The stain will never come out! Take him outside for that.”

Justilo leapt from his seat and tried to run, only to be grabbed by lawkeepers. Two of them advanced towards Dwalin, hands held up in supplication.

“Easy, easy, Master Dwarf! We don’t want to – well – think of the floors!”

Damnit, Dwalin nearly burst out laughing at that. The lawkeepers were smart enough to realize that they couldn’t actually stop him if he was really bent on killing Justilo.

“Let him kill that bastard!”

That was not in the script. Every being in the courtroom turned to look at the hobbit farmer, absolutely nondescript in every way, except for practically vibrating with rage and cheering for murder. Beside him, a dark haired hobbit woman – unusually small, like Blackberry – covered her face and wept. 

“Who is that?” Balin asked.

“That’s – that’s Ruggo Whistlestop,” Blackberry answered in a near whisper. “And his wife, Peony.”

“The dwarves are right!” Ruggo continued. “That worm paid for the injustice he gave to his own wife, but he never had to pay for hurting mine! You grunting pigs sat on your fat asses and said it was her own fault for getting seduced! He practically destroyed my Peony! She still bears scars! Brandywine’s got a baker’s dozen dwarves looking after her, but what about my lass?! What about the rest of your lasses?! Even if Blackberry’s safe, even if Peony never walks alone again, what’s to prevent him from finding another target? He likes wee women; they’re easy to overpower! What if he starts on underage girls?! So let the dwarf take his head! Carry on, Master Dwalin! I’ll buy you a pint at the Green Dragon afterwards!”  
By the time Ruggo finished, tears of rage were pouring down his cheeks. There was a moment of utter, shocked silence. One could have heard a pin drop.

“I agree with Master Whistlestop.”

There was a quiet rustling as the crowd turned to look at the new speaker.

“Who is that?” Balin asked, gesturing to the lawkeeper who had spoken.

“That’s Goodwill Bilberry,” Blackberry whispered. “He’s the Commander of the Lawkeepers.”

Commander Bilberry was fitter than most hobbits and a little harder around the eyes. The Shire made a great show of being a jolly place full of food and good cheer, but like most places, there was a dark undercurrent. Cmdr. Bilberry had to witness what most of his countrymen got to ignore.

“Justilo Proudfoot never paid the price for the harm he brought to Mistress Whistlestop,” he announced. “I had the unfortunate task of escorting this prisoner to and from the work farm. He’s a charmer,” Bilberry spat the word. “Very friendly and integrating and worms his way into hobbits’ good graces whether they trust him or not. Very manipulative. And he has a hunger for women that is not seemly. He was banned from the brothel in Bree for abusing the girls there. Even while we held him for attacking Master Baggins and Mistress Brandywine on the bridge last week, he watched Captain Hedgehopper’s wee lass bring her dad his elevenses and luncheons like a hawk watching a hen. She’s only twenty-two.”

This produced a scalded gasp. Twenty-two?! That was barely even a tween! Even the separate whispers of: “There’s a brothel in Bree?!” didn’t lighten the mood.

“To be so obvious while jailed isn’t just stupidity,” Cmdr. Bilberry continued. “It’s sickness. Master Balin and Master Whistlestop are right; Justilo Proudfoot served his sentence and learned absolutely nothing. He won’t stop. He can’t stop. He should be put down like a foaming dog.”

The lawkeeper turned to the Thain, who was still staring in slack-jawed horror.

“Master Hornblower, you won’t get a better opportunity than this. It’s not your decision, it isn’t your judgement, none of your hobbits have to get blood on their hands. This dwarf is acting according to his own laws and ridding us of a pestilence at the same time.”

This was definitely not in the script. The Company had planned Dwalin’s ‘outburst’ to frighten the hobbits. They never expected any to agree with them. The big dwarf cast a look at his king and then his brother and gave a minute shrug.

“Right then so . . . I’ll take him outside first,” he said evenly. “I’ll even mind the floors.”

If anyone thought it strange that the warrior went from raging to calm so quickly, no one said so.

“No one is getting their head chopped off!” The Thain cried, surging to his feet. “We are hobbits and that is not the way we do things! Bilberry! Take Proudfoot back to the lockup! He’ll remain jailed until Brandywine’s doctor’s bill is paid! The rest of you, clear the courtroom! Anyone still in it in five minutes will be arrested for contempt!”

Master Hornblower slammed his gavel down again and stormed out. The assembled crowd began to pour out into the street, most of them heading for the Green Dragon. Justilo Proudfoot was put into shackles. Cmdr. Bilberry exchanged a long look with Dwalin, then led the prisoner away. Dwalin got the distinct impression that if Justilo just happened to disappear after his release, the lawkeeper wouldn’t look for him too hard. 

“I thought that went well!” Bofur announced, prompting a round of laughter. 

“Not at all what I expected,” Balin admitted. “But I’m not sure what I expected from a leader who allows such gross injustices towards dams.”

“Hobbit law is certainly lacking in such areas,” Thorin said coldly. 

Bilba pursed her lips but couldn’t really disagree. The Company, along with Bilba and Blackberry, headed back towards Bag End. The Green Dragon would be packed with drunk hobbits who had just seen some fine entertainment and that really wasn’t they wished to deal with right now. The group was just entering Bagshot Row when someone cleared their throat behind them. Dwalin and Blackberry, trailing the rest, turned to see Ruggo and Peony Whistlestop standing at the crossroads. Peony had managed to stop crying, but still sniffled periodically. Dwalin couldn’t help noticing she was heavy with child.

“Might I have a moment of your time, Master Dwalin?” Ruggo asked, his voice rough.

“Aye.”

Blackberry reached out to Peony, patting her hand and speaking softly to her. The two males moved a few steps away.

“Thank you for remembering my Peony,” Ruggo said. “Everyone wants to sweep it under the rug. I don’t blame her, you know,” he said quickly, before Dwalin could respond. “We were going through a rough patch. I wasn’t paying her attention, looking after her like she needed. Proudfoot saw that and swept her up. She had a black eye when I found her in Bree. She threw herself at my feet and begged for forgiveness right in the middle of the marketplace.”

Dwalin really didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

“I – I haven’t much,” Ruggo admitted, twisting his hat in his hands. “The frost came early this year. But – whatever it takes . . . everything I have if you could –“

The big dwarf silenced Whistlestop with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“One night, you can buy me that pint,” Dwalin said simply.

He turned back towards the rest of the Company. Bilba and Thorin had made their way back to Blackberry and Peony.

“Ruggo, they’ve invited us to stay for supper,” Peony said with a wan smile.

“That sounds lovely,” Ruggo said, nodding.

“Room for two more?!” Drogo was fighting his way through the snow, making way for Primula, who clung to his arm and beamed.

“Always!” Bilba laughed, leading the way back to her home.


	10. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think: okay, I just need to wrap this up and then I can go on to the next bit!
> 
> Brain: You know what this story needs? A murder mystery!
> 
> Me: In the third act?!
> 
> Brain: . . . . yeah! What a twist!
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t think they’re home, sir.” Lieutenant Bellwether said, turning away from the purple door of Bramble’s Edge.

“Blackberry’s cart is here,” Constable Truance pointed out.

“Hmm.” Commander Bilberry offered.

“You don’t really think the dwarf was so dim as to snatch Proudfoot on the first day of his parole, do you?” Bellwether said, joining the pair on the footpath. “He probably done a runner. Might be in Buckland again.”

“Hmm.” 

“Commander! Lieutenant!” Sergeant Sandheaver waved as he came up the track.

“Sergeant! What did the Whistlestops have to say?” Bilberry asked.

“Home all night, sir.”

“Any witnesses to that fact?” Bilberry asked with derision.

“Yes, sir. Goody Whemper the midwife. Also Snowdrop and Pearl Whistlestop.”

Bilberry made a vague noise of disappointment, but asked no further.

“Who are Snowdrop and Pearl Whistlestop?” Constable Truance asked, not getting the connection.

“The twin girls Mistress Whemper delivered not an hour before I knocked on their door. Mum’s doing fine. Ruggo’s so proud I think he’s going to pop his buttons.”

The four lawkeepers fell into step, heading back towards Hobbiton. Commander Bilberry was quiet, the sergeant and constable trading pleasantries about Peony’s safe journey through birthing. Lieutenant Bellwether eyed his superior for a few minutes, then muttered under his breath.

“I still think he done a runner.” 

The lawkeepers continued their trek back into town, where the yelling and loud cries drew their attention. They fought their way through the market crowd to stop in front of the forge.

Justilo Proudfoot lay dead before the door.

Aside from the throngs of curious hobbits, Thorin Oakensheild was peering blearily at the corpse while nursing a cup of coffee. He muttered something in the rough dwarf language and stepped over the late Justilo to open up the door.

“I knew it!” Commander Bilberry cried triumphantly. “Obviously Proudfoot was murdered by—“

“Not a dwarf,” Bellwether announced.

“What?”

“Master Dwalin was very specific about having to remove his head to defend his family honor and the head is still attached.”

“Thank you!” Thorin called from inside the forge.

The constables started to shoo away the crowd, one of them running to the nearest law post for the dead wagon. Thorin started the forges, then came out and watched the lawkeepers as he finished his coffee.

“He has an axe wound in his back,” Commander Bilberry announced.

“Delivered after death,” Thorin said. “If it were delivered while he was alive, he’d be covered in blood.”

Bellwether stared at the body like he’d never seen it before.

“I’ve been in enough battles to know corpses don’t bleed.”

“WHO KILLED MY VICTIM?!”

The departing hobbits hurried back. Dwalin was glowering down at Proudfoot’s corpse as if it had personally offended him. Blackberry hung on his arm, an odd expression on her face.

“I was supposed to kill him!” 

“You could take his head now!” Someone called from the back of the crowd. “I don’t think he’d mind!”

“It doesn’t count if he’s already dead!”

“Not so fucking loud,” Thorin pleaded, rubbing his forehead.

Bellwether realized the King Under the Hill was hung over. Oakensheild only had hangovers when he was celebrating with the other dwarves at the inn. In fact, that was the direction Dwalin and Blackberry had come from. Blackberry was still wearing a party dress instead of a morning dress. She looked a bit green around the gills as well. Of course, that could have been the fresh corpse at her feet.

“We went to Bramble’s Edge this morning, but you weren’t at home,” the Commander announced coldly. “Mind telling us where you were all night?”

“We spent the night at the inn,” Blackberry answered, swallowing heavily. “Someone was the worse for drink.”

“We’ll never celebrate the end of our honeymoon again,” Dwalin said in a gentler tone.

“Half of Hobbiton heard the rest of them staggering back to Bag End,” another hobbit from the crowd offered. “Singing their bawdy songs; they could barely put one foot in front of the other. It’s a wonder they didn’t lose one in the snow.”

“What time was this?” Bellwether asked.

“Half past two in the morning!!”

“When was the body found?”

“I – I came in to start baking at four,” Autumn Leafwalker said. “He wasn’t there then. I unlocked the door at six and he was.”

Bellwether fell silent. The dead wagon arrived and he oversaw loading the body up while every constable they could manage went around taking statements. The snow under Justilo’s body was devoid of blood, but, Bellwether couldn’t help but notice, it was melted a bit. Proudfoot had still been warm when he was cast down in front of the forge. He called Captain Hedgehopper over to witness this. 

“So we’ve got a freshly-dead bastard and a killer who really wants us to think a dwarf did it,” Hedgehopper sighed. 

“And every dwarf in the Shire was drunk as a miner last night and surrounded by witnesses right up until the body was found.”

The pair fell silent for a moment as Blackberry begged off from her husband and fled a few steps into fresh snow before becoming sick. 

“And still hung over,” Hedgehopper observed. He looked back over his shoulder at Bilberry who was bossing around his underlings and glaring at the dwarves. “He finally got a murder; you’d think he’d be happier. 

Goodwill Bilberry had been one of the hobbits who was certain Blackberry had murdered her husband and Peony and wanted to arrest her for it.

“He was acting queer since the first bell,” Bellwether groused. “Maybe it’s because this one will be tough to solve.”

“You think?”

“Too many people wanted him dead.”

In front of the forge, Blackberry kissed her husband and started off towards home to get her cart and start her own workday. The lawkeepers didn’t try to stop her. It was the Shire. No one left.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Goody Whemper arrived home just as Blackberry was walking up the drive.

“Good morning, Mistress Whemper! Oh, you’ve just come back from a call. I can come back later.”

Goody turned her pony into his stall and peered at Blackberry. They had met plenty of times before. When Blackberry was just a faunt, Goody taught the mothering class at Hobbiton’s school. The girl paid intense attention to the intricacies of pregnancy, birth, and parenting. While courting she had called on Goody to learn if there were any herbs or a special diet to ensure her body was primed for conception. After the first few years of her marriage – her _first_ marriage – the inquiries changed to medicines to help conceive. And finally inquiries about any foundlings available. 

The poor child had hitched her wagon to the wrong star. While courting, Justilo exuded the air of a young man a little uncertain of children, but guilty of nothing more than inexperience. After he wed Blackberry, he made no secret of how much he detested children. Even a mother who couldn’t care for a new babe wasn’t going to let it go to the Proudfoot household.

And now, fresh into a very hasty – even by hobbit standards – marriage, Blackberry was at Goody’s doorstep again. Normally Mistress Whemper would tell her to come back after she’d had a nap, if it weren’t for the little fact that Blackberry had just married a _dwarf_.

“I – I have to go get my cart and bring Dwalin his elevenses and lunch – I can stop on the way back if that’s better.”

Goody had been at the wedding. She’d heard Dwalin declare that there wouldn’t ever be children. Thorin and Bilba’s marriage seemed to confirm this little belief. But if no unwilling mother would give a babe to Blackberry because of Justilo, surely she realized no one would give her a babe because of her dwarvish husband.

“Why are you here, lass?” Goody finally asked.

“I need confirmation,” Blackberry sighed. 

Goody’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.


	11. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some news from different experts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ranger named Arathorn is not Aragorn's father. Aragorn's father was Aragorn II. This is Aragorn I. I tried to line up the timeline of the Ranger chieftains as best I could with the events mentioned in this story, but the movie butchered a few things and GreenT placed the Fell Winter in Bilbo's lifetime, so it's a little wonky.
> 
> Jumps! Jumps were the sports bras of the 18th and 19th centuries. Instead of a tight, heavily boned corset, jumps were usually quilted fabric that laced up the front. If they had boning at all, it was very minimal, usually restricted to the back and sides. They could go all the way to the waist and look a bit like waistcoats, or they could stop under the bustline. For the purposes of this fic, I'm having them stop under the bustline and kind of mimic the empire waists of dwarrow women.
> 
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________

“The Rangers are here, Captain!” 

Captain Hedgehopper reached the front of the Lawkeeper’s Central Post just as two Men entered, dusting snow off of their coats. He had met the older one before, a tall fellow called Arathorn. The younger Man was unknown to him. Lieutenant Bellwether joined them.

“Ah, Rangers. I am Cpt. Moro Hedgehopper, this is Lt. Erling Bellwether. Thank you for coming.”

“I am Arathorn, and this is my son, Argonui. I understand you’ve had a murder?”

“I’m afraid so, Master Arathorn. We’ve had accidents and fights that have gotten out of hand before, but this one is a bit different.”

“Was the victim someone of great importance?” Argonui asked.

“Yavanna, no, he was as worthless as they come,” Erling said. 

“However, whoever killed him tried to frame some dwarves in the Shire and—“

“There are dwarves in the Shire?”Arathorn cut in.

“Not many, but a few have settled here. One of them married a hobbit lass a few weeks ago. We didn’t think there were any issues, but the dwarf in question got into a tussle with the victim over his new wife. Then the victim is found dead, thrown down in front of the forge where the dwarf works and had an axe wound in his back.”

As Moro spoke, he led the two Rangers to the furthest room at the back. Justilo Proudfoot’s body lay in an old pantry with two boards missing from the wall so the cold could preserve him. The two men pulled the sheet off of the corpse and looked him over. 

“What do you think, lad?” Arathorn asked.

“Well, it wasn’t dwarves,” Argonui answered.

“Why?”

“In fights over honor, dwarves almost always remove the head. Even when they don’t, they shave the victim.”

“Shave them?” Erling questioned. “Hobbits don’t have beards.”

“They would have shaved his head instead. Either way, it looks like this blow to the head is what killed him.” Argonui pointed to a bruise and cut at Justilo’s temple. “The cut on the back has no bruising at all.”

“Well done, lad. If you should like my opinion, Cpt. Hedgehopper, I’d suppose this gentleman got into a scrap with someone who hit him just right, realized he was dead, panicked, and threw him on the doorstep of the last person he’d had an argument with,” Arathorn surmised. “It was just too sloppy to have been planned.”

The two hobbits nodded and thanked the Rangers, offering them luncheon. For Men who lived their lives roaming, the opportunity to eat until they were fit to burst was a rare treat. The pair went next door to what was ostensibly a public café, but had been taken over by various Lawkeepers. 

“That’s the feeling I got from this mess, too,” Moro told Erling as the pair grabbed their cloaks to head next door. “Looks like we should be looking for a rock.”

Erling didn’t look relieved at all.

“Or a truncheon.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I’m only doing this right now because I’m curious, girl. Strip down to your shift,” Goody ordered, putting the kettle on. She badly needed a cup of tea.

As Blackberry started to disrobe, the midwife gathered the tools of her trade.   
“You really think it’s the dwarf’s baby?”

“YES!!!” Blackberry snarled.

“Mmm. When was the last time you were with a hobbit male?”

“Eight years ago.”

Goody stopped in her tracks.

“Eight years? Really?! But everyone says –“

“What? What does everyone say?” Blackberry asked, stripping off her corset.

“Um . . . . a lot of ladies say you’re like a hunting cat,” Goody said ruefully. “And small enough to slip through windows.”

Blackberry rolled her eyes. She was used to being grist for the rumor mill. In fact, she thought she might have heard the one about having loads of lovers before. Instead, she looked down at the corset in her hands as if seeing it for the first time.

“I’m going to have to switch to short stays, aren’t I?”

“Or jumps or even a kirtle. Just leave pressure off of your stomach. And you’ll need to practice your birthing dance, too. Remember it?”

“Sort of.”

“You can come by the class on Saturdays, if you need to. Let’s have a look at that belly.”

What followed was much pinching and prodding and peeing into a small glass bowl. Goody mixed some ground herbs into it, then went back to her physical exam. She examined Blackberry’s breasts, belly, hips, feet, and secrets. The old midwife returned to her glass bowl and held it up to the light. The liquid within had turned red.

“You need to start eating more, lass; you are much too thin for birthing.”

“I am with child?”

“Nearly two months gone, so I stand by my first question. You’ve only been married three weeks.”

Blackberry had the decency to blush, but she grinned.

“Have you seen my Dwalin?” she asked slyly. “Anyway, I’m not taking any cheek from Goody ‘Four husbands and counting and I’ve given birth to fourteen children’ Whemper.”

Goody scoffed as Blackberry began to redress. The younger hobbit woman tied her corset as loosely as she could, swore when she had trouble buttoning her dress over the top of it, then just left the back unbuttoned and threw her cloak over it. 

“Is there a healer with this mob of dwarves?” Goody asked.

“Yes, Oin, son of – somebody or other.”

“I might need a conflab with him if the child really is half-dwarf.”

“You know where Bag End is.”

“Yes, I do. Well, congratulations, my dear, welcome to motherhood; you’re starting your greatest adventure, now get out I have to sleep.”

Grinning, Blackberry walked back to Bramble’s Edge.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“A truncheon? You think it was a Lawkeeper?!”

“I don’t have any proof,” Lt. Bellwether said. “Just a suspicion.” 

“Explain.”

The pair had kept silent until the Rangers ate and left, and now spoke in hushed voices as they walked back to the Post.

“The Commander had us out searching for Proudfoot before the corpse had even been found.”

“He missed his parole check-in.”

“He had until ten in the morning to make that. He was only out so early because he was working for Farmer Rumblebelly, milking cows. Besides, last time someone jumped his parole, they just sent word round to keep an eye out for him. And Longfoot ended up being at work, he just forgot to sign in! The first thing we should have done was send some lads to the dairy!”

Cpt. Hedgehopper’s face started to contort as he realized the insinuation.

“That’s . . . you can’t just—“

“He’s been acting queer.”

“Don’t talk to me about this until you get some proof,” Moro sighed, pushing open the door.

“WHO THE HELL INVITED THE RANGERS?!”

Commander Bilberry was practically purple with rage. The constables present instantly put their natural hobbitish powers of disappearing to use.

“I did,” Cpt. Hedgehopper said firmly. “They have more experience with dwarves than we do; they had some insights.”

“Such as?!”

“They said Proudfoot got into a scrap with someone who hit him just right and cracked his head open. Then they panicked and threw him on the doorstep of the last person to take issue with him.”

Cmdr. Bilberry stared hard at his officers.

“That is a pretty good insight. Except what of the axe wound?”

“It’s winter; everyone has axes by their woodpile.”

“I’m still not convinced. Get up to Bag End and count dwarves, then go over to the Green Dragon and make sure the number matches.”

The captain and lieutenant grudgingly made for the door, but Erling paused.

“The Ranger’s insight wasn’t perfect, Commander.”

“In what way?”

“Well, the last person to call for Proudfoot’s head . . . . was you.”

The lieutenant pulled the door shut after him. Moro was shaking his head.

“Do not talk to me of this!”

“He flinched! He flinched! He might not be guilty, but he knows something!”

“Let’s go count dwarves before you get us killed!”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blackberry had an old pair of jumps left over from her first marriage, when she thought there would be children. She threw them on over a winter morning dress that was little more than a glorified nightdress. In truth she probably could have gone another month in a corset, but Blackberry had waited long enough to wear jumps that she was going to do it as early as possible. She made meals for her husband and loaded up her cart before heading into town. She kept her fur-lined cloak closed as best she could so that news of her condition didn’t reach Hobbiton before she did. These days, when a woman switched from wearing corsets to jumps, there was really only one reason for it. Blackberry dropped off her wine, then headed to the forge. Dwalin was fetching coal for the forges when she walked in but set down the bucket and came up for a kiss.

“How are you doing, love?” Blackberry asked.

“Oh, forging with a hangover is just a delight,” the big dwarf announced. 

To Blackberry’s surprise, Dwalin instantly noticed her change in dress and smiled warmly.

“I like that frock; it’s very dwarvish. Did Dori make it for you?”

“This? Oh no; this is just what hobbit women wear when they find out they’re with child.”

“Really? Why are you wearing it?”

Blackberry simply stared at her husband. Dwalin stared at his wife. After a moment, his steel grey eyes dropped to her stomach. Then they flipped back up to her face. He paled. Then his eyes dropped back to her belly again. He put one hand over his mouth and swayed on his feet. Blackberry laughed. 

“I just found out!” She announced. “Goody Whemper said two months along!”

Dwalin actually staggered back a step to catch himself on the counter.

“You’re – you’re . . . two months? But that would mean . . .” the big dwarf looked at the patch of floor where Thorin had discovered them.

“Yes. It’s a good thing you married me! It’s probably a mark of honor for a dwarf to be conceived in a forge!”

Blackberry was anticipating a joyful yell, being picked up and twirled around or Dwalin running through town, laughing like a loon. She was not expecting his face to contort and damn if his eyes didn’t look a bit wet.

“I nearly left you,” He whispered. “I nearly went back to Ered Luin without you and this whole time you were carrying my child.”

“I would have followed you to Ered Luin and demanded you marry me,” Blackberry announced, sobering a bit. “This town already hates me, I could imagine what having a half-dwarf bastard would do.”

Dwalin looked pained, but gathered her up and squeezed her carefully.

“Even if I were a complete coward, I would have done the honorable thing. But it’s even better that I married my sweet lass and got a wee one on the way as well.”

He touched his forehead to hers. For a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Blackberry whispered, giggling.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Dwalin returned, grinning.

He kissed her once more, set her down on the worktable, then drew in a deep breath and tore out of the door, bellowing something in Khudzul. Blackberry stared after him, then started laughing. She was happy that he was happy. She was grateful beyond the power of tongue to tell that Dwalin hadn’t asked if the baby was his. 

Blackberry was certain that was a question she’d be answering until the baby was actually born.


	12. Pot and Kettle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is happy about Blackberry's pregnancy. 
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my biggest pet-peeves in writing is medieval settings with modern knowledge. If it's a character that's traveled through time or whatever, okay, fine. That character can know about modern medicine. But it ticks me off when characters in medieval settings find out that they're pregnant and immediately swear off drinking and smoking. Or when they talk about having eggs. The human ovum wasn't discovered until 1928. Try again! Hell, they used to get women drunk during labor to help with the pain!
> 
> I've even seen a few where characters were actually singled out for carrying (or not carrying) a certain gene. How did they know that, huh? Did they pop down to Ye Olde Gene-Sequencing Laboratory and Barber Shoppe?
> 
> Anyhoo, I'm trusting you all to be smart enough to realize that drinking and smoking during pregnancy are actually not good ideas and eating sweets won't effect the sex of the baby.
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cpt Hedgehopper and Lt Bellwether knocked on the door to Bag End. The pair had stopped at the forge first, but it was closed. Blackberry’s wine cart and empties were sat by the door. Mistress Leafwalker in the bakery said that there had been a fuss after Brandywine had entered with a lunch basket, but conceded that it looked like quite a happy fuss.

Through the green door to Bag End, the lawkeepers could hear another fuss. It did not sound like such a happy fuss. They knocked again and presently the door was opened by a grey-haired dwarf with his beard in elaborate braids.

“This isn’t the best time, officers,” he said apologetically.

With the door cracked, Hedgehopper and Bellwether could hear two female voices raised in anger. It sounded like Bilba Baggins and Blackberry Brandywine, but it was hard to tell.

“We just need to do a head count,” Moro said. “For the alibis.”

The grey-haired dwarf looked off to the side, but nodded and stepped back.

Most of the dwarves they had seen were gathered in the entryway, holding mugs of ale as though they had been in mid-celebration. 

“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, ALL RIGHT?! I NEVER GOT A CHILD WITH A HOBBIT HUSBAND AND I WAS TOLD I’D NEVER GET ONE WITH A DWARF HUSBAND!”

“GANDALF TOLD US HOBBTS AND DWARVES COULDN’T MAKE CHILDREN!”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T TAKE HEALTH ADVICE FROM A FUCKING FIREWORKS VENDOR!”

“HE’S A WIZARD!”

The dwarves eyed each other awkwardly. Erling started counting beards.

“Is no one going to tell them off for having such a fight?” Moro asked in a quiet voice. 

“Well, it’s dams, innit?” Said a red-haired dwarf with his hair in spikes.

“You don’t interfere with a dam fight,” The dwarf standing next to him added.

A young, scrawny dwarf with his sideburns just starting to fill in sighed and headed towards the sitting room the two hobbit women were screeching in.

“Brave lass, brave lass, good girl, Ori,” several dwarves said, patting (apparently her) shoulders. 

Moro had to take another look to realize that sideburns or no, the dwarf was wearing a skirt. 

“Um . . . you two shouldn’t be fighting.” Ori said. 

“THIS HOBBITCH ASKED WHO THE FATHER WAS IN FRONT OF MY FUCKING HUSBAND!!” 

“It – it just slipped out,” Bilba admitted, much chagrinned.

“I – I don’t really understand this,” Ori admitted. “Dwalin is Blackberry’s husband; of course it’s his baby.”

“Thank you!!”

“Blackberry is in the family way?” Moro asked, completely forgetting about counting beards.

The lawkeeper dug through his pockets for a moment before producing a small packet of pipeweed. This he thrust into Dwalin’s free hand and shook it firmly.

“ _Freolice bréost!_ ”

“ . . . thank you,” the big dwarf said. “What does that mean?

“It’s an old Kuduk blessing,” Moro said. “It means . . . well, it actually doesn’t translate to Westron very well. I suppose you could say ‘a blessing on this new life’ but there’s also a bit of ‘may there be no complications’ and ‘I hope you have many more!’”

“So what if they used a surrogate?! I know you and Thorin couldn’t because he’s royalty, but it’s very rude to mention it!” Ori chided, her voice rising.

“A surrogate?” Blackberry echoed.

“Dwalin has still claimed the child as his, so it’s his child!” the young dwarrowdam continued.

“I didn’t mean – you’re right, Ori, that was very rude of me,” Bilba admitted.

The male dwarrow started to relax. It seemed the fight was past. The door swung open again and three more dwarrow walked in. They seemed surprised both by the presence of the Lawkeepers and the impromptu party.

“Oin! Oin, you’re needed!” Dwalin declared, going to the grey haired healer. “Blackberry’s with child.”

“’Ey?” Oin pulled out an ear trumpet.

“I said Blackberry’s with child! She needs to be examined!”

“Surrogate?”

“No, no surrogate. She’s already been to see a hobbit midwife, she needs a dwarf healer now.”

“I did not sleep with anyone besides my husband!” Blackberry’s voice was starting to rise again.

Dwalin and Oin went into the living room and moments later hustled Blackberry back to one of the bedrooms.

“Is this everyone?” Erling asked.

The dwarf in the hat took a look around and started counting on his fingers.

“Thirteen dwarves,” Erling offered, ready to be on his way. “There should be thirteen dwarves. We aren’t counting the hobbitesses.”

“Bifur, Oin and Gloin just came back, Ori is in with Bilba and Dwalin is back – I already counted Oin. Thirteen. Yeah, that’s everyone.”

“Right; we’ll be on our way, then. _Freolice bréost_!”

“Free lice and breasts to you, too, mate,” Nori said as the Lawkeepers left. “Is it safe?”

Bofur was peering around the corner into the living room. Thorin had moved to stand before his wife as Dori and for some reason Fili had flown to Ori’s aide. Bilba had her head bowed, hands over her face.

“It isn’t fair,” she finally choked.

Thorin heaved a deep sigh and reached out, gathering her to his chest. Bilba choked out a few broken sobs. 

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed.

The King Under the Hill didn’t know what to say beyond that. A dwarrowdam grew in the knowledge that she might never bear a child. It was less of a shock when it didn’t happen. Hobbits taught their daughters that children would come by the dozen if they wished. Even two fine sons raised in Bag End didn’t lessen the sting of not bearing. Thorin didn’t understand this. A dwarrowdam would be over the moon if given two children when she had none. 

“I was so cruel to Blackberry,” Bilba whimpered. “Because of my own hurts.”

“Yes, you were,” Thorin stated.

The hobbitess in his arms groaned, but leaned into her husband’s embrace. 

“I’ll never be able to apologize enough, will I?”

“For Blackberry? Likely not.” Thorin pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know you only said those things because you were hurting.”

Bilba tipped her head back to look up at her dwarf husband.

“So you love me still?”

“Until I’m returned to stone.”

“Don’t go heading back anytime soon.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I have not been unfaithful!” Blackberry insisted.

“I never doubted you for a second, luv, now dress off –“

“How dare she! She has two fine sons already! She has no right to create!”

“None at all,” Dwalin agreed, unlacing her jumps. “Now let’s let Oin take a look, ey?”

The healer took the jumps from Dwalin’s unresisting hand, studied them for a second, then shook them at the hobbitess.

“Wear these instead of those waist-cinchers while you’re with child!”

“They’re called corsets and I know!”

“Don’t fuss, pet, it’s not good for you to fuss now,” Dwalin said, pulling her dress over her head. 

Blackberry turned to tell her husband just what she thought of orders to calm down when he started unlacing her bloomers. To his surprise, she gave Oin a nervous look. By Mahal, Blackberry was so quick to strip down to her skin around him, it was a mild shock to see her shy in front of another male. The shock changed to amusement when Dwalin tried to take her shift off only for his wee wife to yelp and clamp it against her body.

“You need me stark naked?!”

“I’m a healer, lass,” Oin stated flatly. “I’ve seen many a dwarfling into this world. Besides, your young man is right here.”

Dwalin did snort, then, mostly for being called a ‘young man’. Blackberry flushed, but didn’t protest as she was stripped bare. There was more poking and prodding. 

“Aye, I’d say the midwife was right; two months along. Now if the babe is half-dwarf—“

“IT IS!”

“—we’ll have to keep an eye on things.”

“So no idea why Blackberry could get a child with a dwarf and Bilba can’t?” Dwalin asked.

Oin shrugged.

“Mahal carves all dams a little differently; maybe Blackberry’s a little closer to a dwarf than Bilba is.”

Blackberry opened her mouth to protest that Mahal hadn’t carved her, Yavanna had grown her, but the words died in her throat. Perhaps . . . perhaps Mahal had carved her. She had always been a most unhobbitish hobbit. 

“If bairn sickness hits you hard smoke more pipeweed. And stick to wine and mead for now – sweet drinks give you a better chance at having a girl. Many blessings, the both of you.”

Oin slipped out, giving Blackberry privacy to redress. Dwalin helped her, beaming proudly.

“Do – do you think Mahal carved me?” Blackberry asked. “Not Yavanna?”

“Oh, I know the Stone Father made you, luv. Even a master craftsman’s chisel slips every now and then and he has to turn a cabochon into a rose.”

“You think I was meant to be a dwarf.”

“You are a dwarf, Berry. On the inside. This wee one is proof of that.”


End file.
